


Burn

by dgalerab



Series: Among Us [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: After Extensive Therapy Probably, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Gets a Chance at Redemption, Glad that's a tracked tag, M/M, Mentions of Sexual Trafficking, Multi, Oikawa Tooru's tendency to push until he hurts himself, Other, PTSD, Temporary Character Death, Understandably But Intensely Villainous Tendou Satori, Villain Ushijima
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 121,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8280334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dgalerab/pseuds/dgalerab
Summary: It is the fundamental nature of Oikawa Tooru to push forward. As a kid, he’d been a cry baby, still was, if Hajime was honest with himself, but it was always with the air of someone throwing themselves at the world and expecting it to yield. Oikawa Tooru would claw his way higher even if there was nowhere higher to go.(Or: Oikawa Tooru has too much potential for his own good.) Sequel to Savior, can maybe-kind-of-sort-of be read as a stand alone but you will be confused at times.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently today is not the 15th. Sorry.
> 
> A few notes before I get started:
> 
> \- Yes, Ushiwaka is a villain in this. I do like Ushijima, so I will do my best to humanize him as much as possible, but he is, without a doubt, a villain in this, and he will probably not get a happy ending in this story. Same goes for all the Shiratorizawa characters. Sorry.
> 
> \- Akaashi's storyline will rear its head again in this story, though he won't be the focus. Like in the last part, there are issues with non-con in that whole thread. I will put warnings on the chapters where this is relevant, for anyone who feels they might be triggered by something of that nature, but I didn't tag it this time because there's not a lot of mentions of it.
> 
> \- Updates weekly, hopefully, but I'm still hammering the plotholes out of this thing and I might have to switch to every 2 weeks towards the end. We'll see, and I'll definitely tell you all if I am switching.
> 
> Enjoy!

The nightmares always start like this.

Tooru always feels off, like he’s either become shorter or taller. Everything is cold and white around him. At first, he always thinks it’s the isolation room, because that used to be the scene for all his nightmares, but it’s not, not anymore. He’s on his back. He can’t sit up. Something hurts.

Someone else’s voice is begging for mercy, but he’s the one who’s frightened. Frightened to the point that he can taste it in the back of his head.

A man leans over him, a man with rimmed glasses and a cruel smile.

“Tooru,” says yet another voice, and it doesn’t fit in here.

This is not a part of these nightmares.

“Tooru,” it says again, and he’s almost certain he knows it. It feels like coming home, like an anchor in a storm.

He cracks opens his eyes, and Hajime’s rough hands are gentle as they brush under his eyes, coaxing him into blinking his eyes open entirely.

He groans, raising his hand to block out the light of the lamp on Hajime’s desk. His head hurts. It has been hurting, off and on for several months now, but every time he grows accustomed to the pain, it grows worse.

“Headache again?” Hajime says, shifting a little so that his back shields Tooru’s face from the light as he nestles his nose into the soft hair at the top of Tooru’s head.

Tooru hums something distracted and gets a tender forehead kiss for his efforts. He lets his eyes flutter shut, then realizes he dozed off accidentally. “I should get home,” he whispers. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, it’s late,” Hajime says. “Which is why you’re staying the night. I already told Akaashi.”

“Oh?” Tooru says.

“Yeah. He and Kenma called because they’re worried about you. Apparently, you had a nosebleed last night.” His tone is clearly a reproach, but he doesn’t seem angry, as if he’s just resigned himself to hearing about these things from other people.

 _Oh_ , Tooru thinks. _Yeah._ He’d meant to tell Hajime, but the headaches have been especially bad this week and once he’d managed to drag himself over to his boyfriend’s dorm room, he’d pretty much just collapsed in his bed and… probably fallen asleep right away. To be honest, it’s all rather hazy.

“I forgot,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Hajime sighs and places another kiss at the tip of his nose. “Have you talked to the Professor yet?”

“No,” Tooru admits. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Hajime says gently. “But you’ve got to take better care of yourself, ok?”

“Ok,” Tooru croaks. He knows Hajime is being this explicitly gentle because he’s worried too, and he feels guilty for not telling him about the nosebleed.

“No new powers?” Hajime says, slowly tilting Tooru’s head to the side so that he can press tiny kisses to Tooru’s neck.

Tooru can feel the tension unfurl in his neck, and his headache eases up as well. Hajime kisses the shell of his ear, and he shudders, suddenly breathless. “No,” he whispers.

Hajime’s hands slide down to the hem of his shirt and he tugs it up over Tooru’s head. Tooru does his best to push himself up to make it easier, but all that really does is remind Tooru how shaky he feels. Hajime’s arms grip him tight, supporting him as he pulls the shirt off. “Shh, baby,” Hajime croons. “Don’t you worry. I’m gonna spoil you tonight.”

To be honest, Hajime spoils Tooru always, but that doesn’t make Tooru melt any less when Hajime does it without the grumpy front. “’Kay,” he slurs, and closes his eyes as Hajime drops back down to his neck, leaving the softest kisses along his jugular, then moving down his shoulder, across his collarbone, and then up the other side of his neck.

He makes his way to the tip of Tooru’s chin, then down his Adam’s apple, then onto his torso, where he spends an eternity mapping all of Tooru’s skin with little kitten kisses. Tooru’s headache is all the way in the background now, just a twinge of pain here and there.

Hajime lifts him with ease and flips him onto his stomach, sitting back onto Tooru’s ass, strong hands digging into his shoulders, massaging the kinks out of them one by one, as though Hajime can sense every lick of tension in Tooru’s muscles and can draw it out with his fingers.

“You give the best massages,” Tooru tries to say, but it just comes out as a muffled, sleepy mumble.

Hajime laughs. “You haven’t been resting enough lately,” he says. “No wonder your headaches are acting up.”

Tooru wants to let Hajime smooth this over, because he’d like to pretend everything is ok. If Hajime wasn’t his boyfriend, maybe he’d grab the chance, but Hajime is his boyfriend and Tooru is working on being as open with him as possible. “I’m not so sure about the cause and effect there,” he murmurs.

Hajime is quiet for a while. “Me neither,” he says. “But it’ll do good if you get some rest. You’ve been having nightmares, right?”

“Yeah,” Tooru manages, because at that point, Hajime kisses the back of his neck, nice and slow, and he shivers.

Hajime smoothes the shivers away with his thumbs. “You’re such a hassle.”

“You love meee,” Tooru mutters, his tongue melting into the words like he’s drunk.

“Go to sleep, you little brat.” He kisses along Tooru’s shoulder blades. Tooru shifts a little to get his face comfortable, and lets his eyes flutter shut to surrender himself to Hajime’s care. “I do love you, though,” Hajime adds.

Tooru thinks he might say “Love you too,” but it’s also possible he just snorts a little and falls asleep.

-X-

When Tooru wakes, he hears Hajime talking to someone. The door is cracked open, letting in light, but the blinds are pulled shut, blocking out the light at first. Tooru feels his headache niggling at his forehead again, but it’s not so bad as it was earlier. Or rather, he thinks, as he inspects the light falling into the room under the blinds and through the door, last night.

He stumbles to his feet. He’s only in his boxers. He can only assume that Hajime undressed him as he slept, but he’s glad. He doesn’t like the crusty feeling jeans get when he wears them all night.

Hajime looks back at him as he sidles up, dizzy from the sudden change in positions. The person he’s talking to is Akaashi, standing outside.

Akaashi has lived with them a year as of three weeks ago, but the progress he’d made since is astounding. For one, Kenma has repeatedly gotten his hands on his outfits, so now his loose sweater fits with his slightly worn jeans and blue scarf. He’s filled out, too, after dozens of reluctant morning jogs with Bokuto and a tendency to eat anything and everything he can get his hands on. He stands straight and confident nowadays too, and though Tooru is still privy to his concerns and his bad nights, these days Akaashi gives the impression of total fearlessness.

Tooru pulls on one of Hajime’s sweaters before he goes to join their conversation.

Akaashi smiles ever so slightly when he slips beside Hajime. “Ah, Oikawa-san. You’re looking better,” he says.

Tooru shrugs. “It was just a few headaches, Aka-chan,” he says.

He watches Akaashi stifle the eye roll that comes with that nickname. “And a nose bleed,” he points out. “Quite a long one.”

“A long one, huh?” Hajime says, raising an eyebrow at Tooru.

Tooru glares daggers at Akaashi, who is unmoved. “Perhaps you should speak to the Professor. Or possibly Sugawara, if you’d like to keep it low key.”

“It’s really not a problem,” Tooru says, probably because he’d like to forget these occasional headachy spells all together. They really aren’t that bad, even if it is concerning that they’re increasing in intensity. There are more important things to worry about, surely, than some stress headaches.

His final paper, for example. He’d forgotten to work on it last night. He rubs at his temple. He’ll have to make up for that load.

“Sugawara is easy to speak to,” Akaashi tells him, firmly, his eyes not betraying a desire to back down a single inch. Akaashi has weekly talks with Sugawara, Tooru knows, after everything he’s been through.

Tooru sighs. “I’ll talk to him,” he says.

Hajime’s shoulders loosen once he says it, which almost makes up for how much Tooru doesn’t want to deal with this.

“Thank you,” Akaashi says, and he has the audacity not to look triumphant. “Please let us know if you’re staying another night.”

Tooru scowls at him, but at this point, several months into a relationship with an utterly adoring Bokuto, Akaashi has become entirely immune to any attempts to discourage him. If anything, he draws power from them, and then uses that power to join in on Kenma’s taunting of Tooru.

Akaashi waves and nods formally at Hajime, then turns to go, leave Tooru to fight the urge to stick his tongue at him. Hajime turns around and raises his hand to cuff him over the head, but he stops before he does. “What is with your hatred of taking care of yourself.”

“It’s just stress. I have a paper due, and class…” he says, reaching for his pants.

Hajime stops him with a strong arm around his waist, hauling him back with minimal effort. Tooru looks back at him, but he’s got on that stony face that never betrays whether Tooru’s going to get a good talking to or a good fucking.

“Leaving already, huh?” Hajime purrs.

 _Oh_ , Tooru thinks, his body already responding to the way Hajime’s fingers ghost over his shoulder. “Not if you ask me like that,” he whispers.

Hajime grins like a cat that’s caught its prey, whirling him around and pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his hips. “You know, I thought you might be able to spare a few moments…” he whispers, and starts on devouring Tooru whole.

-X-

He doesn’t get much work done that day either, but his headache remains, at best, a nervous twinge at the back of his mind. It’s not hard to find Suga, since he’s currently lecturing a stony faced Kageyama and a very appalled Hinata, who doesn’t seem to understand why he has to face this lecture from Suga and not someone who is less of a mom concentrate, like maybe Hinata’s actual mother.

Suga seems to have chosen the living room for this rant, which should be for privacy, since it’s currently empty, but somehow everyone has found a place from which to watch it, like it’s a spectator sport.

Tooru pokes around quietly until he finds Kenma’s hiding spot and settles in to enjoy Kageyama getting scolded. Akaashi is finishing off a pudding cup with a look that radiates smugness. Lev is watching from the top of the stairs, looking moderately jealous. Nishinoya is behind him, looking a little guilty, and Tooru wonders if he was secretly the instigator.

“My, you look smug. Coming from Kou-chan’s are you?” he whispers to Akaashi, as revenge for his failure to enjoy his victory earlier. He’d refrained from making sexual references around Akaashi until Akaashi himself had dropped a sexual reference into the middle of dinner with a brutal poker face and continued eating without a hitch. Anymore, it doesn’t seem to bother him, as long as they’re only referring to his painfully consensual sex life with Bokuto.

Akaashi levels his smug look at Tooru. “Actually, this is my _Ukai-san told me I wouldn’t be able to find his pudding cups for sure this time and I did_ face, but if you’d like to see my _I just had sex_ face, that will be on later tonight.”

Tooru nearly laughs hard enough to alert Suga to their vantage point, and Kenma jabs him in the stomach, probably harder than he’d meant to.

“What’s Tobio-chan getting chewed out for?” he asks, grinning.

“You’re way too excited,” Kenma replies.

“Come _ooooon_ ,” Tooru moans. “Tell me he did something really idiotic.”

“Apparently they tried to peek in on a mob lord’s funeral,” Akaashi says.

“That is pretty idiotic,” Tooru laughs, but somehow the laughter fades as it slides along his tongue. His head twinges and his hand hovers up automatically to rub at his temple.

The movement catches Kenma’s eye and he frowns. Tooru does his best not to look at him.

Akaashi shakes his head. “They’re lucky they didn’t get caught. They’re not exactly the most subtle of people.”

Tooru hums, but his headache is only getting worse. He grabs onto Akaashi’s sleeve as it apparently tries to split his skull in half. From somewhere distant, underwater maybe, there comes a voice, but it’s not familiar to him. _The man with the glasses_ , he thinks, suddenly, though he’s not sure why.

“Oikawa-san,” someone says.

Tooru’s not sure when he closed his eyes, but it hurts to much to crack them open now, so he just stays down. He seems to be on the floor. Quiet voices flutter above him. There’s cool fingers on his forehead, then something dripping.

He manages to open his eyes, though it’s not exactly his brightest decision. Shimizu and Suga are perched above him. “Hey there,” Suga says, ever the calming influence. Tooru swallows down his thudding heart.

“Hi,” he says.

“That headache, is it all one side of your head?”

Now that he thinks about it, it kind of is, though it’s hard to focus on any particular pain, it’s just a general… suffering. Intensely. “Yeah, I think.”

“You seemed pretty sensitive to light as well,” Shimizu says. Tooru doesn’t remember when she arrived. She looks at Suga. “Probably a migraine. I can prescribe him something.”

Kenma is sitting off to the side, eying him angrily. His phone is suspiciously at hand. Tooru groans. He’s going to be in trouble now. “They weren’t ever this bad,” he says quickly, but he knows it’s far too late.

Akaashi leans forward. “Come on, Oikawa-san, you should get some sleep,” he says, gentle and dry. He helps Tooru up, supporting him for a moment before realizing how much Tooru is swaying and pulling his arm over his shoulders. “I’m sure Iwaizumi-san will be happy to hear he can yell at you while you’re well rested.”

“Ha _ha_ ,” Tooru says, glaring at Akaashi. “You’re kind of an asshole sometimes.”

“Of course, Oikawa-san,” Akaashi says mildly, helping him up the stairs.

“I slept almost all day yesterday,” Oikawa whines. “I have a paper to write.”

“It can wait,” Akaashi says. “If you’re tired you should sleep. If not you should rest your eyes. I doubt eyestrain will do any good for a migraine.”

Tooru whines at him. “Fine,” he says, and crawls into his bed. He lays down and closes his eyes, and the next time he opens them, Hajime is peering down at him.

“You’re back,” Hajime says, sounding relieved.

“Ugh,” Tooru groans, rubbing at his eyes. “I feel like I keep losing time. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Hajime sighs. “I know you want to keep pushing yourself, but if you collapsed from a migraine, your body needs the rest.”

Tooru chews at his lip for a while. “Hajime?” he says.

Hajime’s brow furrows just the tiniest bit, and he can tell that Hajime is worried at his tone. Tooru is worried at his tone. His voice is shaking and he doesn’t understand why. A migraine is one thing, this kind of panic is another. He didn’t even feel so shaky when he’d had to quit volleyball because of his knee.

“Yeah?” Hajime asks, and his tone is still steady.

Tooru leans his face into Hajime’s palm. Whatever happens, Hajime is always the rock that Tooru can anchor himself by. “Are auditory hallucinations migraine symptoms?”

Hajime frowns openly at that. “I think they can be. What’d you hear?”

“Just a voice,” Tooru says. “From a dream, I think.”

“What’d it say?”

Tooru shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “But I feel like I’ve seen the guy before. Like not just as part of a dream, like… I don’t know.” He sighs. His headache is getting worse _again._

Hajime seems to notice his grimace, because his fingers slide up to massage his temples. “Well,” he says. “They say that every face we see in our dreams we’ve seen before.”

Tooru frowns. “I don’t think… I don’t think I have, though.”

“Maybe it was when you were little or something.”

Tooru grabs Hajime’s wrist. “I don’t think _I’ve_ seen him before,” he says quietly.

Hajime blinks at him. “You mean you think…?”

“Akaashi and Kuroo have both been captured by the same people,” Tooru continues. “And it would have been something they’d remember really, _really_ vividly. And I spend a lot of time with both. Maybe… it’s an exposure thing, you know? Like I’ve been hearing the same thought over and over and it finally managed to get itself over.”

Hajime clenches his teeth. “Tooru, come on,” he says. “It’s just a nightmare.”

“But what if it’s not my nightmare?” Tooru presses.

“You’re not reading minds,” Hajime says severely, and Tooru catches his hands and pulls them away, gripping tight.

“What if I am?” Tooru pleads.

“You’re not.”

Hajime won’t look him in the eye, which means he’s realized that Tooru might be right.

Hajime has spent more time dealing with Tooru’s powers than Tooru has. Tooru has always been interested in one thing: controlling his powers. Hajime’s interest has always been what happens to Tooru.

It’s why he’s going into neuroscience. It’s also why he’s read every article available about telepaths and related mutants he could get his hands on. Tooru doesn’t really want to know why, but Hajime’s never liked the thought that Tooru is an actual telepath, able to read minds, maybe move objects.

“Why not?” he croaks. He’s not asking for Hajime’s reasoning. Suddenly, he needs to know. He needs to know what Hajime is scared of.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not,” Hajime grits out. “Get some rest. You only slept about three hours and you look awful.”

Tooru watches him with narrowed eyes for a while, but Hajime doesn’t look back at him. He slides down in his bed. “I have a paper,” he mutters.

“You can get an extension with migraines,” Hajime says, quietly.

Tooru doesn’t say anything, kneading at the sheets slowly to avoid looking at Hajime. Hajime sighs and shuffles into the bed beside Tooru, pulling him onto his shoulder. “Tooru, you’re going to be fine,” he mutters.

Tooru’s hand instinctively skates over his bad knee. It doesn’t hurt much anymore, unless he puts too much strain on it, but it twinges every so often, even nowadays. Hajime notices and pulls his hand away. “That only happened because you wouldn’t accept that you’d be fine,” he whispers. “You always felt like you were going to end up left behind and a failure and you kept pushing yourself past your limits, alright?”

Tooru hums quietly.

Hajime kisses the top of his head gently. “Get enough rest. Take the medication. You’ll be ok, alright?”

“Yes,” Tooru says. “Stay tonight?”

Hajime has never stayed the night at the Institute before. To Tooru, the Institute is the place where he came to avoid hurting Hajime. If Hajime follows him here, what’s there to keep him safe?

Tonight, though, Tooru feels like he can barely lift his arms, much less muster the energy for a psychic blast. He can tell that the question startles Hajime, though, because he stays silent for a few beats too long. “Yeah. If Akaashi and Kozume won’t mind.”

“Please. They had their boyfriends over too, when they needed it. It’s only fair,” Tooru mutters, and as reluctant as he was to go _back_ to sleep, he finds himself dozing off into the warmth of Hajime’s chest.

“Ok. I’ll be here, then,” Hajime says. “Just relax.”

“Mmmmkay, Iwa-chan,” Tooru manages before he passes out.

-X-

“Tetsu-chan!” Tooru sing-songs as he dashes after a ruffled looking Kuroo. It’s still morning, and Kuroo is wearing his glasses and his colored contacts at the same time, and is squinting at Tooru over his coffee like he barely recognizes him.

 “I think I forgot my contacts,” he mutters.

“You’re wearing them with your glasses, it’s bound to make things blurry,” Tooru says.

“Ah,” Kuroo says. He pulls his glasses off. “Yes, that’s probably it.”

“Anyway,” Tooru says, snatching the glasses away to distract Kuroo from where he’s staring at them, confused. “Did you not sleep last night or something?”

“I started as a TA and I was up all night grading,” Kuroo mutters. “Can’t I just take out the contacts and wear my glasses?”

“Not unless you want to scare everyone you see today,” Tooru says. Kuroo is now watching the glasses in his hand sadly. “Anyway. Tetsu-chan. You know some neuroscientists, right?”

Kuroo squints at him. “I know your boyfriend.”

“He’s being unhelpful,” Tooru laughs, stomach twisting.

“Aha,” Kuroo replies, grinning lopsidedly, suddenly a great deal more awake. “So you’re doing something irresponsible.”

Now it’s Tooru who’s moping at the glasses in his hand in order to avoid Kuroo’s look. “Actually, I think Iwa-chan is being irresponsible this time.”

There’s a moment of silence, then, “Okay.”

Tooru looks up at Kuroo. “You’re just going to believe me?”

Kuroo shrugs. “I know you’re not an idiot, Oikawa,” he says, even though Tooru knows for a fact that when it’s just the two of them, he and Kenma both refer to Tooru by his given name. “I know you like to rely on Iwaizumi, but if you say he’s being an idiot, I’m absolutely certain that you’re capable of judging that for yourself.”

“Alright,” Tooru says. He had assumed this would take more convincing. “Well… I need a few articles on telepathy. Like… studies, not just the clickbait articles. Could you help me?”

“Sure,” Kuroo says. “I mean, I have access to a lot of the archives as a premed student, I could probably even pull out a couple for you without needing to rake in any favors.”

“Would you?” Tooru breathes.

“Yeah,” Kuroo says. “But hey, if something’s up, hash it out with Iwaizumi, okay? I know you guys need each other and I’d hate to be a part of you guys fighting. Also, I’d hate for you guys to fight, in general.”

“I know,” Tooru says. “I promise I won’t be an ass.”

Kuroo snorts. He has such an ugly laugh for someone so attractive. “Don’t get carried away making promises you can’t keep, Tooru!”

Tooru sticks his tongue out at him.

-X-

Amazingly, Tooru manages to get a large part of his paper done, even though he’s still buzzing with worry. Why doesn’t Hajime want to talk about telepathy? Will he be really mad if he finds out Tooru’s looking into it behind his back? No, that’s not fair, Hajime shouldn’t be keeping Tooru from reading up on what might be his own powers.

When Kuroo slams down the papers in front of him, he nearly leaps out of his skin and the window. “Have you ever heard of _knocking_?” he cries.

“I did knock,” Kuroo says. “Multiple times. Also said hello.”

Tooru grimaces at him, rubbing at his forehead. If these headaches keep up, he’s going to rub straight through his skull eventually. “Sorry, I just… I hate doing things behind Iwa-chan’s back. It’s usually a bad idea, but I think… I think this time it’s him being overprotective.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo says, thoughtfully thumbing at his cheek. “Listen. I skimmed these and…” He sighs. He’s switched to his glasses, and his eyes aren’t actually as off-putting as Tooru had thought they would be, but they are still off-putting. “… just don’t overreact, okay? And don’t… flip out and refuse to talk to anyone who would comfort you, alright?”

“Alright,” Tooru says, and now he’s even more nervous. “I’ll call Iwa-chan right after I’ve read them, good?”

“Deal,” Kuroo says. “I’m sending Kenma after you, you know. If he doesn’t give a good review when he gets home at night…” He points threateningly, glaring at him. Even with the red and black eyes, Kuroo trying to look severe in his glasses comes off a little like a librarian shushing him.

Tooru snorts. “Alright, mom,” he says. “Thanks for this.”

“Any time,” Kuroo says. He looks at his watch. “Ah, shit, I have a class.”

“Don’t forget your contacts,” Tooru warns, watching as Kuroo dashes from the room.

He switches to his own glasses and starts ruffling through the articles.

-X-

This was a mistake. He’s not sure exactly what he should have done instead, but this, specifically, was a mistake. He pushes his glasses aside to rub at his eyes, staring down at the tragic collection of facts that he’s managed to collect from the articles.

_Patient 1 – Aneurysm, age 25_

_Patient 2 – Loss of brain function, age 30_

_Patient 3 – Total paralysis, age 19_

_Patient 4 – Aneurysm, age 22_

_Patient 5 – Aneurysm, age 30_

The lists go on. It seems that the Professor is the only telepath to live past 35, and even he did so with the loss of his legs. Tooru had always assumed that he was in a wheelchair due to a tragic accident, but given his powers, apparently it was a miracle.

Tooru has read each article four times through. Once collecting mortality rates (over 90%) and once trying to figure out if maybe Hajime’s insistence that he wasn’t developing telepathy was born of anything but blind faith and denial, but it doesn’t seem to be.

Developing telepathy after only exhibiting one or two abilities related to telepathy during childhood is apparently typical.

Tooru tries to calm his racing heart. He’s still only exhibiting two abilities. That’s not so bad. He’ll be fine, surely Hajime knows something he doesn’t. It’s going to be fine.

His nose is dripping blood across the long list of casualties sitting in front of him, and it’s an image so striking that when he starts back, it feels a little like he’s just jolted out of a nightmare. His hand instinctually goes to his phone, ready to do what he’s always done when he has a nightmare.

His thumb hovers over the call button. When, exactly, was Hajime going to tell him? When he’d already lost feeling in his legs? After the first stroke?

He lowers his phone with a shaking hand.

“You promised Kuroo, you know,” Kenma’s voice says, slightly reproachfully, from the door.

Tooru starts. “How long have you been there?” he asks, hand snapping up to hide a little of the blood dripping from his nose.

Kenma sighs. “Long enough,” he says, pulling a tissue from his back pocket and pressing it to Tooru’s nose, still at arm’s length. Tooru takes over, pressing the tissue to his nose, and Kenma draws back. “Don’t pull into a nosedive, Tooru, okay?”

Tooru scoffs. He’s not pulling into a nosedive, it’s just not fair. It’s not fair for Hajime to treat him like a child and not tell him the truth. It’s not fair that Hajime won’t trust him. “I just…”

“I know,” Kenma cuts in. “I know. But Hajime’s not the only one who thinks he should shoulder the worst of things alone. It’s broken, so fix it, don’t add to it.”

“You and Kuroo are frustratingly good at this relationship thing, you know,” Tooru says, pouting. “And I can’t even wish you guys sucked at it because your last fight was literally the worst for all of us.”

Kenma smiles a little. “Call him. Yell at him even, if it makes you feel better, call him.” He stands, tugging absently at his gloves. “I’ll leave the room to you.”

“Thanks, Kenma,” Tooru whispers after him.

Kenma doesn’t say anything, but he nods his head a little as he shuts the door behind himself.

Tooru dials Hajime’s number. It rings twice before Hajime picks up with a hello that’s just on the softer side of gruff. Tooru smiles. He’s angry, still, but he’s glad to hear Hajime’s voice. He hadn’t quite noticed how his fingers were shaking and his heart was thudding until it settled down at the sound of Hajime over the phone.

He’s too exhausted to yell.

“You should have told me,” he says weakly. “I’m not a child, you shouldn’t have acted like I’m too weak to know.”

Hajime’s quiet for a long time. Tooru wishes he could see his face. _“I don’t think you’re weak,”_ he says finally. There’s another long pause, then, _“I guess I kept telling myself that if you weren’t developing telepathy there wasn’t any reason to tell you and if I would have told you it would have been admitting that I had a reason to.”_

“It all fits, though,” Tooru says quietly. “All the headaches, the new power…”

 _“Yeah,”_ Hajime croaks, as though he’s trying to say more but just can’t bring himself to do so.

“Not great odds,” Tooru continues.

_“Not really.”_

There’s quiet, but Tooru can hear Hajime breathing over the line, and it’s comforting, somehow.

“Maybe I’ll be the exception,” Tooru offers, hugging his knees tighter to his chest. “I’m a really special person, you know.”

Hajime chuckles a little at that, and Tooru thinks he might hear a little sniffle. _“Yeah, you are,”_ Hajime says. _“Listen, we’ll get you migraine medication, that’ll help, and then we’ll…”_ He stops suddenly and sighs. _“… I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. I’ll figure it out. I’ve started talking to a few of the top neuroscientists studying this, so… I’ll figure it out, okay?”_

“Okay,” Tooru says, and now _he’s_ crying.

_“I’m not going to let you die, Tooru. You owe me a white picket fence and a dog.”_

Tooru laughs, or sobs, or maybe something in between. “Yeah, yeah, well… if you save my brain for me, I guess I’ll get you a stupid dog…”

 _“Deal,”_ Hajime chuckles. _“How’s your paper going?”_

Tooru settles back into his pillows, slipping his bloody notebook into the bottom drawer of his nightstand. “Actually pretty well. But now my head is killing me again, so I think I might take a nap. Or two.”

_“Take some painkillers. Should take the edge off. And I ran into Shimizu today, she says that they should have your meds by tomorrow, alright?”_

“Okay,” Tooru says.

 _“I love you so much, Tooru,”_ Hajime says softly.

“I love you too.”

He hears the slow click on the other side of the line before it goes quiet, and then Tooru lays there for a while, staring at the top of the ceiling. He’s still scared, but it feels like a muted fear, like when Tooru was ten and listening to the thunder outside with his sheets pulled over his head.

Hajime is going to figure this out, and Tooru is going to trust him to do it. All Tooru has to do in exchange is keep it together until he does, and hell if he doesn’t pull his weight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru pokes his tongue out him, then bounces up, throwing his arms out. The evening sun catches on his hair and his lashes like a halo. “Let’s do something fun. Go to the movies or something.” He flaps his hands excitedly. “Ugh, I feel like I’ve been dying for the past month, I need something to get the taste of morbid out of my mouth.”
> 
> Months of reading article after article of people, probably like Tooru, slowly lose their brain function flash before Hajime’s eyes. He hopes it doesn’t show on his face.
> 
> “Alright, alright,” he laughs, closing his book. “Let’s see if there’s any shitty sci-fi in the movies right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should never write from Hajime's perspective, because I, like Hajime, am too easily distracted by Tooru's beauty. Still gonna, though.
> 
> I have never used migraine medication and my sources are some confused Googling and some even more confused conversations I've had with my aunt while she was on migraine medication. This is probably not an accurate depiction of side effects. Sorry.
> 
> Explicit sex from "“Gods, you’re an asshole,” Hajime mutters, pulling off his pants in one go. “Why do I even bother with you?”" to "“I feel safe in your arms,” Tooru murmurs." Mentions and implied sex throughout because let's be real they're going at it all the time. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone leaving a comment/Kudos/like/post on Tumblr! You guys are great and you give me life. Special thanks to TheGuestGirl for betaing and fixing my numerous plotholes.

It is the fundamental nature of Oikawa Tooru to push forward. As a kid, he’d been a crybaby, still was, if Hajime was honest with himself, but it was always with the air of someone throwing themselves at the world and expecting it to yield. Oikawa Tooru would claw his way higher even if there was nowhere higher to go.

This is why nothing terrifies Hajime more than something that could keep Tooru down.

He’s been reading article upon article about the effects of chronic pain, but logic can’t quite compete with the terror he feels when he sees Tooru grow quieter and quieter, face constantly pinched in distress. The terror he feels when Tooru hadn’t stayed mad at Hajime for being secretive, desperate for someone to help him stay afloat.

It scares him to think that this could grow any worse.

The medication they gave Tooru had knocked him out in under a half an hour. He’s sprawled out on Hajime’s bed, not having had enough energy to lift his right leg into the bed. It’s likely that he’ll need a bit of time to adjust – preventive migraine medication did tend to come with drowsiness as a side effect, but he’s sure that Tooru will be unhappy that he’d been tricked into another nap. If he can stay awake long enough to be upset.

Still, even though Tooru will be upset, he’s calm now. His face is slack, and this might be the first time he’s slept without pain or nightmares in about a month. His mouth is open and he’s snoring softly. Hajime smiles slightly as he brushes aside Tooru’s bangs. As terrible as it is to see Tooru so exhausted all the time that he isn’t even being his own annoying self, there is something cathartic about seeing Tooru rest a little.

Tooru’s eyes flutter open as he feels Hajime’s knuckles brush against his forehead. He squints up at him. “Did I fall asleep?” he murmurs, looking bleary as he glances around.

“Yeah, you dozed off,” Hajime says, keeping his voice soft so Tooru doesn’t immediately try to launch himself into being fully awake. “Probably just the medication.”

Tooru narrows his eyes at him, though he’s too unfocused to look intimidating. “ _ More _ sleeping?”

“You’re pretty when you sleep,” Hajime murmurs, stroking Tooru’s hair as he goes red. The freckles on his nose stand out better when he blushes.

“What, because I’m finally shutting up?” Tooru prods. For someone who enjoys being openly conceited, Tooru doesn’t deal with praise very gracefully.

Hajime sighs, settling his hand on Tooru’s jaw so he can run his thumb along the edge of his freckles. “I don’t want to bully you today,” he says. “You’ve been really quiet lately.”

If possible, Tooru goes redder, looking as though he might melt straight into the pillows. “Iwa-chan was worried about meee,” he tries to sing-song, but it’s bashful instead of that grating tone that Hajime hates. Or wants to hate, but adores instead.

“Of course I was worried about you, dumbass,” Hajime says, rolling his eyes.

“I thought you weren’t going to bully me today,” Tooru snaps back.

“At this point, I’ve been around you long enough that dumbass is a term of endearment.”

Tooru lets out a scandalized squawk. “Now you’re definitely bullying me!”

“I’ll show you bullying,” Hajime growls, shoving his boyfriend into the pillows and crawling over him. Tooru shrieks, and Hajime mushes the pillows around his face, squeezing his cheeks with them. Tooru giggles, nose scrunching up, and Hajime isn’t sure if he leans down to kiss it or if the cute little gesture draws him in and steals the kiss from him.

Tooru just giggles harder. “Wow, you really showed me,” he laughs.

“I know, right,” Hajime whispers, kissing Tooru’s cheeks as he keeps laughing, soft and sweet and unburdened. Hajime loves that sound. “Bet you’re really sorry you brought this on yourself.”

“Oh, I’ve thought long and hard about my mistakes,” Tooru snorts as Hajime kisses over the freckles on his nose. “But alas, someone has to keep my poor, ugly Iwa-chan some company.”

“Ugly, dearest?” Hajime says with a wolfish grin. “I don’t think you should be calling your loving boyfriend ugly.”

He pulls Tooru’s shirt up quickly, sliding down to nibble at his side quickly before Tooru can react. Tooru squeals in response. “I better teach you a lesson, huh, sweetheart?”

“Iwa-chan! No!” Tooru says, still giggling.

Hajime smiles at him sweetly and blows along the smooth expanse of Tooru’s belly. Tooru screams, batting at Hajime wildly, but Hajime hugs him close and keeps up the tickling breaths. “N-not fair, Iwa-cha-aaaaan!” Tooru cries, flailing and laughing. “I’m drugged and crippled! Release me!”

Hajime smirks into his skin and keeps up until Tooru’s laughter is breathless and weak, arms slumping over Hajime’s shoulders and the blankets, wherever they fell. He kisses gently at the skin then, letting Tooru catch his breath. Tooru’s body still hitches with the occasional laugh, but slowly he settles down into something more intimate.

“Hajime,” he whispers. Hajime looks up, leaning in so he can press his nose to Tooru’s. Tooru’s big eyes blink up at him. “Thank you. For being here, and all. Taking care of me.”

“Please,” Hajime says, kissing that adorable nose. “It’s the least I can do.”

Tooru hums. “I’m taking the week off. Suga says it might take a few days to adjust to the medication, so…”

Hajime kisses his nose again. “That’s a good idea,” he says. “You want to stay here this week?”

Tooru sighs. “Won’t Makki mind?”

“Ah, he’s barely my roommate anyway. I think he’s Matsukawa’s roommate at this point.”

“Sexy roommate?”

“I honestly don’t want to know,” Hajime sighs. “But do you wanna be  _ my _ sexy roommate?”

“Please don’t call it that. And honestly I think if you get me off now I’ll fall back asleep.” As if to make his point, Tooru yawns wide as he says it, stretching like a cat.

“Sounds like a deal,” Hajime says, grinning.

Tooru groans. “Fiiine,” he says, his voice trilling with his signature obnoxious dramaticism. “Just don’t make me do any work, my limbs feel like noodles and it’s the  _ worst _ .”

“Don’t worry,” Hajime laughs, unbuttoning Tooru’s jeans. “I like having you feeble and helpless in my grasp. But flip over, I wanna eat you out.”

“I can’t believe you’re bribing me like this,” Tooru whines. “Why can’t you just flip me by yourself?”

“Oh my  _ gods _ , you’re so  _ bratty _ .”

In the end, he makes one half hearted attempt to sit up and roll over, pouting all the way, but he flops back and his limbs really do flail like noodles when he does. Hajime takes pity on him and flips him onto his stomach by himself. To be honest, he’s just glad to hear Tooru whining a little. The worst is always when Tooru  _ stops _ complaining.

-X-

“This arrangement is not great for my studies,” Hajime murmurs.

“Stop watching me while I sleep like a weird old man, then,” Tooru retorts, not even bothering to open his eyes.

He rolls over, mashing his face into the pillows, and Hajime thinks for a moment that it might help, but he realizes after a moment that the slope of Tooru’s long, firm body is almost as aesthetically pleasing as his angelic sleeping face. He sighs, leaning over and pressing a kiss to the top of his spine. “You’re a pain in my ass,” Hajime murmurs, and Tooru must have fallen back asleep, because he doesn’t even bother to point out that statistically it’s more likely to be the other way around.

He tears his eyes away and manages to get his homework done before Tooru startles awake, sitting up quickly and rubbing his hand over his eyes.

“Nightmare?” Hajime asks, worried.

Tooru grimaces. “Kind of,” he murmurs. “I just felt like someone was watching me.”

Hajime sighs. “No one’s watching you,” he murmurs, sitting beside Tooru on the bed, ruffling his hair.

Tooru looks up at him, one eye still squeezed shut sleepily. “Mmm,” he murmurs in assent. His open eye is clearer than it has been in the past few weeks, and it flutters shut as he yawns.

“Gods, sometimes you’re so pretty I want to punch you for putting me through it,” Hajime whispers.

Tooru freezes mid-yawn and pulls a horrified face at him. “What?! That’s not fair!”

“You know what’s not fair, asshole?” Hajime mutters, leaning forward and pinching Tooru’s cheeks. Tooru gasps as though Hajime has seriously injured him. “You, and your dumb face. How can anyone be so pretty? What am I supposed to do with this face, huh?”

“Put food into it?” Tooru says, batting his eyelashes at Hajime and biting his lip. Hajime honestly has chest pains trying to contain his love for this idiot.

“Yeah, alright,” Hajime mutters. “That’s a start. What do you want?”

“Urg,” Tooru says, sighing as he stretches out his limbs. “Everything. This is the first time I’ve actually wanted food for weeks. I’ve just been living off of milkbread.”

“You say that like it’s not your dream,” Hajime chuckles.

“Believe it or not, Iwa-chan, I  _ do _ occasionally like to have other food,” Tooru says, turning up his nose,  _ clearly  _ deeply offended.

“Alright, well, choose a restaurant, I’m taking you out,” Hajime says. Tooru is acting more himself and Hajime is realizing he missed it more than he thought. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed how much of a zombie Tooru had become in the past few weeks. When was the last time he’d heard Tooru laugh before today?

Tooru rolls himself up like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done and pulls on one of Hajime’s discarded sweaters. He grabs his glasses from the nightstand and pushes them up his nose. Hajime takes one look at him and bursts out laughing.

“What?” Tooru asks, blinking.

“You look so frumpy,” Hajime laughs.

Tooru gasps, thoroughly scandalized. “I do not look  _ frumpy¸ _ Iwa-chan!” he splutters. His eyes narrow when Hajime laughs harder. “You were just waxing poetic about my limitless beauty!”

Hajime nearly collapses against his desk. “Well, you’re a frumpy beautiful.”

Tooru pouts at him.

-X-

They end up going to get ramen, and Hajime wraps his arm around his boyfriend’s waist as they walk. Tooru has a spring in his step again, but he keeps rubbing at his eyes and yawning. It’s adorable.

Hajime gets his favorite kind of ramen, as does Tooru, but Hajime is distracted from his own meal by the way Tooru tastes his and closes his eyes appreciatively. When they get home he’s going to give Tooru  _ several  _ orgasms.

Tooru cracks an eye open at him and smiles wryly. “Goodness, Iwa-chan, distracted by my beauty  _ again _ ? This obsession is becoming unhealthy. You’ll wither away.” He throws his hand over his forehead dramatically and falls back.

“I missed you,” Hajime says.

Tooru stares at him. “I’ve been with you all day,” he says. “Iiiiwa-chan, are you losing your memory? All that studying is aging your tiny brain too quickly…” He prods at Hajime’s forehead with a long finger.

Hajime rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying,” he mutters. “I didn’t notice how bad it was getting, but you’ve been… really out of it, Tooru.”

Tooru slumps back at that, swirling his chopsticks through his ramen. “I didn’t notice either. I didn’t think it was hurting that bad, but now it’s gone and it’s like…” He sighs. “Well, I probably should have gone to Suga earlier.”

“Probably,” Hajime snorts. “But it’s always been in your nature to pull into yourself when you’re feeling bad. I should’ve pushed you harder to get help. I wanted to think you were ok.”

Tooru hums and keeps eating. “Me too,” he says, mouth half full.

“You know, now that you feel better, you should probably talk to the Professor, too. I mean, he is the only living telepath we know,” Hajime says.

The window across the room suddenly seems to fascinate Tooru. “He’s on a trip,” he mutters, picking at his food.

Hajime groans. “You don’t want to talk to him.”

“I don’t.” Tooru kicks at the ground, glaring down at his food. 

Hajime doesn’t want to upset him. He rolls his eyes instead. “Alright, whatever. I’ll talk to him for you when he gets back.”

“Okay,” Tooru murmurs, then brightens suddenly with the air of someone flicking something unsightly under the table. “Iwa-chan, can we get ice-cream after this?”

-X-

“I might fall asleep again,” Tooru says, which would be cute if he hadn’t said it while he’s half naked and Hajime has his head between his legs, undoing his belt.

“You really know how to set the mood, huh, Tooru?”

“If I fall asleep just keep going. I can probably come in my sleep,” Tooru says, shrugging in that way he does when he knows he’s being a dick.

“Gods, you’re an asshole,” Hajime mutters, pulling off his pants in one go. “Why do I even bother with you?”

“Because I’m soooo pretty,” Tooru coos, then chokes as Hajime slides him into his mouth in one go, nose hitting the hair at the base of Tooru’s cock. “Shit.”

Hajime pulls all the way off. “Feeling more awake now, baby?” he says, dipping forward to roll his tongue around the tip of Tooru’s cock.

Tooru shudders beneath him. “Yeah I… I might be a little energiii-i- _ oh, gods, _ ” he gasps, as Hajime swallows him down again and hums. “Oh fuck.”

Hajime smirks around his cock and starts into a rhythm. All the way down, then all the way up, circling the head for a while before sinking down again. Hajime doesn’t particularly enjoy the feeling of the cock in his mouth, especially because it’s hard to look up at Tooru like this, but fortunately Tooru is a very vocal lover.

Tooru’s moans are the sweetest sound that Hajime has ever heard. He starts by moaning softly, in a tender crescendo, and as Hajime does his work, his legs slide open and his moans start to sound more like babbled pleading. Hajime doesn’t speed up, and Tooru grabs at his hair desperately, trying to thrust his hips forward and whining when Hajime holds them down.

He waits until Tooru’s moans start to give in to desperate gasps before he finds the bottle of lube he stashed away, certain that Tooru wouldn’t hear him click it open, not when he’s lost to the feeling. He doesn’t even seem to notice that Hajime has let go of his hips, because he barely twitches forward into Hajime’s mouth anymore.

Hajime slides the first finger in slowly, relishing the startled mewl it draws from Tooru’s mouth, his hands fisting into the covers beside Hajime’s head. “Oh, gods, yeah, fuck me,” he chokes, letting out a small cry when Hajime pulls up to suck hard at the head just as he rubs against Tooru’s prostate.

Tooru’s hips roll, seemingly unbidden. He shivers, and Hajime tongues and sucks at the head, keeping his finger moving against Tooru’s prostate until Tooru’s hands fly to Hajime’s head once again, clawing at his scalp.

A few more strokes and Tooru’s back snaps into an arch, head spilling back, mouth dropping open around a helpless moan as he comes into Hajime’s mouth just as Hajime slips the second finger in.

Hajime pulls off of his cock, but he keeps moving his fingers, leaving off the prostate while Tooru tries to catch his breath.

This is Hajime’s favorite part, while Tooru is still loose with one orgasm and slowly moaning as he melts into the build-up for the next one. This is when Hajime can really see him laying back and allowing Hajime to take care of him, eyes fluttering shut as he curls into the motions.

Hajime slips in a third finger and presses them to Tooru’s prostate again, closing his eyes to listen to Tooru’s small cry as his legs slide open just a little further. There’s something so terribly graceful about Tooru’s long limbs, and something even more glorious about them when they spread for Hajime, legs open and one hand bracing against the wall, the other falling off the bed as Tooru goes liquid with pleasure.

“Shit,” Hajime says. “Shit, I want to be inside you.”

Tooru cracks open his eyes. “I’m ready,” he croaks.

Hajime withdraws his fingers and positions himself. Tooru watches him with smoldering eyes as he pushes in slightly, withdrawing a little while Tooru’s body adjusts to the stretch. Each small thrust has him plunging deeper, and something about the way he’s been so relieved to see Tooru looking healthy again and the way he’s so tight around him has Hajime losing his mind as he slides in.

“Fuck, baby, come here,” he whispers, and Tooru groans as Hajime pulls him up into his lap, draping his slender arms over Hajime’s shoulders, letting his head slide into the crook of Hajime’s shoulder.

Tooru’s hiccupping gasps only intensify as Hajime manhandles him so that Hajime is kneeling under him, able to thrust up into him and control the tempo of Tooru’s own hips with one arm wrapped around his waist, thumbing along his spine. He clutches Tooru’s head with his free hand, feeling the soft hair at the nape of Tooru’s neck. Tooru sucks in a quick breath.

“You like this, baby?” Hajime whispers.

“Yes,” Tooru says. “I love it. I love it in your arms.”

His own arms come up around Hajime’s back, gripping hard like Tooru might fall apart if he doesn’t hold on to Hajime to anchor himself. “I love you so much,” Hajime manages, but it’s getting too hot like this, and all he can focus on is the slide of Tooru’s body around his cock and the desperate moans that spill from his throat as he lets Hajime grip him tight.

Like this, Hajime feels as though he’s gathered a galaxy into his arms, a galaxy that lets him claim it for his own, lets him palm the brilliant stars that dot its back in the form of freckles as it shines so bright it might just blind Hajime.

Tooru’s head tumbles back into Hajime’s palm, falling over his fingers like dripping silk, exposing his long, smooth neck for Hajime to kiss and bite and lick until Tooru’s shoots into his second orgasm, face going blank with pleasure as Hajime keeps plunging into that tight heat, lost in the feeling and sight of Tooru losing it until Hajime loses it himself, spilling into Tooru’s body.

Tooru slumps over his shoulders, forehead rolling as he sucks in breaths desperately.

“I feel safe in your arms,” Tooru murmurs.

“Good,” Hajime says softly. “I’d do anything for you.”

Tooru grins. “Iwa-chan is so cheesy,” he laughs.

Hajime rubs his nose against Tooru’s cheek aggressively. “You have a bad effect on me, you little brat.”

Tooru is quiet. Hajime lets him ponder, rubbing at the small hairs at the back of his neck. “When we’re together like this, you treat me like I’m a god or something,” he says finally.

Hajime pulls back. He can’t tell from Tooru’s face if he’s saying it as a good thing or a bad thing. “I like to think you’re like a galaxy,” he says.

Tooru’s eyes flicker up to meet his as he smiles, and the stars in his eyes remind Hajime why he makes the comparison. “A galaxy,” Tooru says, like he’s trying it out. “I like that.” He looks shy for a moment. “Not in the egotistical way. More like… it feels…”

His fingers skitter over Hajime’s chest, and he catches them and squeezes. “I know,” he murmurs, kissing Tooru’s face.

Tooru blinks up at him. He’s looking sleepy again, like a little kitten. He lets Hajime guide him back onto the bed with all the resistance of a ragdoll, and then yawns halfheartedly when Hajime settles in behind him. “Get some sleep, my galaxy,” Hajime whispers.

Tooru hums, like he means to respond but instead just struggles weakly until Hajime understands and turns him, then curls his sleep-laden arms around Hajime. Hajime pulls him in, playing with his hair, and lets Tooru sleep.

-X-

“Hah!” Tooru cries suddenly.

Hajime looks up from where he’s bent over his textbook. “What?”

“I have been awake more than I’ve been asleep today!” Tooru says proudly. His shoulders slump immediately. “When I say it out loud it sounds really lame.”

Hajime smirks. “Well, you’re kind of lame, space nerd,” he says.

Tooru pokes his tongue out him, then bounces up, throwing his arms out. The evening sun catches on his hair and his lashes like a halo. “Let’s do something fun. Go to the movies or something.” He flaps his hands excitedly. “Ugh, I feel like I’ve been dying for the past month, I need something to get the taste of morbid out of my mouth.”

Months of reading article after article of people, probably like Tooru, slowly lose their brain function flash before Hajime’s eyes. He hopes it doesn’t show on his face.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, closing his book. “Let’s see if there’s any shitty sci-fi in the movies right now.”

“Ugh,” Tooru cries. “I haven’t even been keeping up on the latest release dates. Who have I been this whole time?”

_ I feel like I’ve been dying for the past month _ , Hajime thinks, his mouth dry. Normally, he’d make a joke about the inadequacies of Tooru’s brain or something, but he doesn’t even want to think about Tooru’s brain at the moment. “Well, luckily the internet is here to help,” he mutters. “Come here, take a look.”

He lets Tooru sit in his lap and pull his laptop up. He lays his head against Tooru’s back as he hums and scrolls through the movie times. “This is nice,” he mutters. “You, staying here.”

Tooru hums again, distracted by his scrolling.

“Maybe we should move in together. You know, after the semester ends.”

There’s only half a moment of stillness in Tooru’s back, and Hajime might not have noticed if he hadn’t been lying against Tooru. “Aw, Iwa-chan, could you really handle me 24/7?” Tooru laughs, teasing as usual.

Hajime frowns and pulls away, trying to look at Tooru’s face. Tooru doesn’t look back at him. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

Tooru twists around to meet his eyes, furrowing his brows. “Nothing, Iwa-chan, I’m only teasing.”

“So do you want to move in with me?” Hajime asks.

There’s a pause, fractional again, but Hajime was looking for it this time. “Yes, of course, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, laughing. “You’re not getting insecure, are you?”

Tooru is lying, but if Hajime pushes now, Tooru will just clam up. To be honest, Hajime just wants to enjoy the fact that Tooru is feeling better. He can get to the bottom of this later. It’s not like Tooru’s mental hang-ups being a minefield is anything new.  “No, stupid,” he says.

“I love you more than anything, Hajime,” Tooru says, suddenly painfully sincere. “You know that, right?”

“I’m  _ not _ getting insecure,” Hajime stresses.

“Sure, sure,” Tooru says, bounding back into playful excitement like nothing happened. “Hey, let’s watch this movie, please?”

Hajime glances over his shoulder. “It looks awful,” he says.

“I know! It’s gonna be great! Aliens, Iwa-chan, aliens!”

“Yeah, alright,” Hajime mutters, hugging Tooru close as he giggles.

-X-

“That was amazing!” Tooru cries as they exit the theater. It’s late and there are only few people mulling about.

Hajime can’t argue, though he was watching Tooru more than the movie as he bent over the seats in front of them, free to bounce around as he liked, since they were the only ones watching this cheap sci-fi crap. “Did we watch the same movie?” he says.

“Iwa-chan, you can’t be serious! Did you not see the way that spaceship exploded? It was spectacular!”

“It was cheesy as shit.”

Tooru sighs. “Well, I suppose Iwa-chan can’t help being a lame, grumpy old man…” he says with a playful huff.

“I’ll show you grumpy, you dickhead,” Hajime growls, chasing after Tooru as he takes off running, shrieking like a small child when Hajime gets him into a headlock, swinging him around as though he’s trying to choke him but only hard enough for it to spin Tooru so he stumbles a little, peals of laughter proving that he’s not in distress.

“Iwa-chan, you brute, you’re going to tear my head…” He cuts off, freezing so suddenly in Hajime’s hold that Hajime nearly drops him.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling Tooru to his feet. Tooru stares ahead, face unreadable. “You ok?”

Tooru takes a moment to register it, jumping a little when Hajime puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Iwa-chan,” he mumbles, sounding a little out of it. “This sounds really weird, but that guy creeps me out.”

Hajime looks around. No one here seems creepy. There’s a couple of high school girls chattering about a comedy they’d just seen, an older woman with her husband, a younger man leaning on the side of the theater wall. “What guy?”

Tooru nods his head at the young man. “Him,” he says.

Hajime looks at him closer. He’s got a chiseled look, and he’s tall, taller than Tooru even, with slanted, slightly chilling eyes. He looks normal, though, just contemplative, slightly too serious for someone milling about the theater. It’s not enough to explain Tooru’s sudden reaction. “What do you mean?”

Tooru reaches out for his sleeve, holding on as though he’s frightened of something. “I don’t know. Let’s just… go, okay?”

“Yeah,” Hajime says, looking at Tooru as he turns away, tugging Hajime after him.

He glances back quickly, subtly, and his heart skips a beat, because now that neither of them is looking, he can tell the guy is looking straight at Tooru. Hajime pulls him closer, slinging an arm over Tooru’s shoulder. He has to bend over a little for Hajime to reach comfortably, but he seems relieved to have Hajime around him.

-X-

Tooru is quiet when they get ready for bed, watching Hajime as he changes, his own legs pulled up under his chin. He keeps biting at his lip.

“Hey,” Hajime says. “You ok? Your head’s not hurting, is it?”

“Hmm?” Tooru mumbles, looking up at Hajime’s face as though he’s just noticed he’s been staring at Hajime the whole time. “Oh. No, it’s not, I feel ok. Just… it’s just weird.”

Hajime frowns. “What’s weird?”

Tooru chuckles, rubbing at his forehead. “I keep thinking of Tetsu-chan,” he says. “I don’t know why.”

“Tetsu-chan?” Hajime says, blinking. This is not at all what he’d been expecting. “As in Kuroo Tetsurou?”

Tooru nods, then blanches. “Not in a weird way! I mean… he’s attractive but…” He wrinkles his nose, as though it’s just occurred to him that he could think of Kuroo in a sexual way and is disgusted by the image. “He feels like my brother’s boyfriend.”

Hajime makes note of that comment to tell Kenma later. “I didn’t think that’s what you meant,” he says gently. “It’s just… kind of random. I would have thought you’d still be thinking about that guy at the theater.”

“I  _ know _ ,” Tooru mutters. “I… I am, but then I keep getting…” He groans. “Alright, now I’m getting scared I’ll give myself a headache.”

“I’ll talk to Kuroo tomorrow in class, alright? See if there’s anything going on, yeah?” Hajime says. “Don’t work yourself up, alright?”

Tooru nods. “Hand me my phone?” he asks.

Hajime does, and Tooru quickly sends a text. Hajime looks at him questioningly.

“Kenma. Just in case.”

A moment later, Tooru’s phone vibrates, and Tooru snatches it up quickly, then smiles. “He’s with Kenma, that’s good.” He shows Hajime the selfie that Kenma just sent him, Kenma looking straight-faced as ever, a sleeping Kuroo on his shoulder.

“You think there’s trouble?” Hajime asks.

Tooru groans. “I don’t know,” he says. “Do you ever wake up from a dream having no idea why you’re scared but being scared anyway?”

Hajime nods.

“That’s kind of what it feels like,” Tooru says. “I don’t know, maybe it’s just a side effect of the medication.”

“Yeah,” Hajime says, though he didn’t see anything like that in the drug descriptions, which he’s read so many times he practically has them memorized. “Yeah, maybe. Don’t stress about it.”

“I won’t,” Tooru says, smiling. He looks down at his phone. “If he’s with Kenma it’s fine.” He looks up at Hajime with round eyes. “Kenma’s been doing combat training.  _ Kenma _ . It’s terrifying.”

“Good thing he likes you, then,” Hajime says, kissing Tooru’s forehead. “Get some sleep or you’ll sleep through the day again.”

“Alright, alright,  _ mother _ ,” Tooru whines. “I’m going to sleep.”

Hajime slips into bed beside him. There’s really always something with Tooru, but this is stranger than usual. He leans over Tooru, watching as he falls asleep slowly.  _ As a telepath, wouldn’t he pick up on things that the average person might not know?  _ his mind volunteers, but Hajime shakes the thought away.

_ He’s ok now,  _ he thinks.  _ He’s doing fine, just calm down. _

Tooru wrinkles his brow in his sleep, and Hajime thumbs at the crease to smooth them out. Tooru lets out a content noise and shuffles into Hajime’s arms. Hajime rubs at his back and waits for his breath to even out once again before kissing his head and sliding down to sleep himself.

Sleep doesn’t come.

Somehow, now that Tooru’s been better as of only a few days, Hajime can only think of the striking contrast. What happens if this is truly the effect of his powers evolving? Will the medication eventually lose its effectiveness? Will Tooru slowly fall back into that broken, pained mood? What about after that? Nosebleeds? Migraines? Passing out? Will he lose it all in a stroke or will he cease to function bit by bit?

Hajime’s worries only grow more and more graphic until suddenly, Tooru’s hands clench down on his side, whimpering slightly in his sleep.

His stomach roiling, Hajime forces himself to think of something happy. Tooru’s smile when he watches dumb movies. His sighs as he comes down from an orgasm. His grin as he eats something good. Tooru relaxes almost instantly.

_ Shit _ , Hajime thinks, and then tries not to think.  _ Shitshitshit. _

“I’m not going to let you die,” Hajime whispers, stroking Tooru’s hair. “I don’t care what the mortality rate is, I’m not going to let you die, you hear?” He tugs Tooru closer and hugs him tight.

“’Jime?” Tooru mumbles.

“Everything’s gonna be ok,” Hajime croaks.

Tooru’s fingers pluck at the back of Hajime’s shirt while he rubs his nose into the front of it. “Yeah,” he murmurs, still sounding like he might be asleep. “Got’ya, right?”

“Yeah,” Hajime says. “Yeah, you do, and I’m going to save your self-destructive ass, like always.”

“…’re bein’ weird, Iwa-chan, but ‘kaaaaay,” Tooru says, and then snores.

Hajime would literally die for this idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shiratorizawa cheer sounds*
> 
> Next time: Guess who's taller than Kuroo. Guess why this is important information. Guess why you're gonna murder me next week. (LeaveKurooalone2k16)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He quickens his strides, because at least he can take comfort in the fact that he has damn long strides, and ducks behind the bio lab. Someone swoops after him, one of the guys who he’d seen wandering about. Apparently he had misjudged the interest that one had presented.
> 
> “Kuroo Tetsurou?” says a deep voice behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look this chapter is from Kuroo's perspective I wonder why that is.

Tetsurou knows this is a dream. He knows because Kenma doesn’t glow like this in real life, only in Tetsurou’s mind, like he’s an angel leaning over Tetsurou, hair tucked behind one ear, the rest falling in a sheet beside Tetsurou’s face, shimmering like a river under moonlight.

Kenma’s waist is slender under Tetsurou’s hands, but he’s strong as he presses Tetsurou into the bed, dipping down. “I love you,” he says, in a way that slithers through Tetsurou’s chest and squeezes. Tetsurou can’t breathe, just needs and needs and  _ needs _ , grasping harder, tighter…

Their lips meet, and Tetsurou can’t quite imagine a taste there, but he can imagine the feel of it, the way Kenma licks into his mouth, hands unmovable along his cheek, each motion tailored to hit Tetsurou’s mouth just right, efficiently and mercilessly pulling him apart and yet still cradling the pieces like something precious.

He blinks his eyes open, feeling like he’s woken into the dream instead of the other way around. Kenma is still sleeping above him, shirt pulled up over his face, sitting against the headboard, hands tangled into Tetsurou’s hair as Tetsurou sleeps on his stomach.

Tetsurou shifts so that he can bring his hands up behind Kenma’s back, burying his face further into his hoodie and gasping in his scent, something vaguely musty and faintly like lavender. Tetsurou knows because sometimes he uses lavender to help himself sleep.

Kenma stirs below him.

“Morning,” Tetsurou says.

“Fuck off,” Kenma mutters, pulling down his shirt with a grumpy flick of the hand. The phrase  _ “good morning” _ is not in Kenma’s vocabulary.

Tetsurou smiles, smirking up at Kenma. “You’re cute.”

Kenma glares down at him. “Are you sniffing me while I sleep?” he mutters.

“When I sleep next to you I always dream of kissing you,” Tetsurou murmurs, burying his face. “I think it’s ‘cause you smell nice.”

Kenma is quiet for a moment. “Come here,” he says. Tetsurou pulls his head up, letting Kenma pull him up by his shoulders and plant a small kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Tetsurou says. “They’re nice dreams.”

Kenma frowns at him, slightly contemplative. Tetsurou cocks his head in an invitation. Kenma seems to go through a few thoughts, then asks, “Why is Tooru asking about you?” 

Tetsurou blinks. He can’t think of a reason. He hasn’t really talked to Tooru lately, just here and there when they meet on campus or as he’s coming and going in the Institute. Usually he and Tooru like to keep up some healthy banter. Lately, Tooru hasn’t exactly been in a banter-ready mood, but he doubts Tooru noticed the difference. He shrugs. “What’d he ask?”

“Just if I know you’re alright or not,” Kenma says, picking his phone up and scrolling back through the text messages. “You didn’t do anything to worry him?”

Tetsurou shakes his head. “I’ll ask Iwaizumi in class today,” he says. “Is  _ Tooru _ doing alright?”

Kenma shrugs. “He’s been at Iwaizumi’s this week. He started his meds a few days ago, but I think he’s feeling better. It takes him like… three hours to reply to my texts, but he’s using emojis again.”

“He stopped using emojis?” Tetsurou says, then whistles, sitting up slowly. Akaashi is already gone, probably jogging with Koutarou, who likes to get up at ungodly hours of the morning.

Kenma nods. “That last week before he collapsed, it was… kind of scary.”

“I’ll bet,” Tetsurou says, checking his own phone and sighing. It’s time for him to get to class as well. “Well, I’ll ask Iwaizumi about him too.”

-X-

Tetsurou ends up dashing into his physiology lecture just as it starts, banging his head on the top of the door as he backs towards his seat with a sheepish look at the professor. She just rolls her eyes. She’s taught Tetsurou before, and she knows he’s got a course load that is a feat to uphold. And he’s acing it.

He bounds over a desk to sit beside Iwaizumi, who looks relieved to see him. “You’re not usually late,” he mutters.

“I got distracted by my boyfriend,” Tetsurou says proudly. He and Kenma are going on five years together, but he’s still excited when he can drop Kenma into a conversation as his boyfriend.

Iwaizumi hums slightly, tapping his pencil against his desk nervously. The lecture starts, and he doesn’t even bother to write down the date, much less take notes. His tablet is sitting beside him, still open to a very dense article with several neurological diagrams.

Tetsurou sighs, looking wistfully at the board. Today is a chemistry-based lecture, and Tetsurou would like to pay attention, but instead he leans in to whisper to Iwaizumi. “Medication not working?”

“Hmm?” Iwaizumi says, as if he’s just noticed that Tetsurou is talking to him. “No, it’s working.”

Tetsurou raises an eyebrow at him. “So?” he says, flicking his eyes down to Iwaizumi’s nervous tapping.

Iwaizumi stops the tapping quickly, sighing. “He responds to my thoughts,” he mutters. “Only in his sleep, but he responds to them.”

_ Ah. _ “So it is telepathy, then?” Tetsurou muses.

“Looks like it,” Iwaizumi says. “You know… it’s just like him. Pushing further and further until it kills him.”

Tetsurou is suddenly very aware of the professor’s voice in the distance, because there’s a pained silence between him and Iwaizumi right now. “Uh,” he says. “Look, I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s tough.” This is by far the most serious conversation they’ve ever had. Their only common ground had been their efforts to get Tooru and Kenma to like each other, and now that they did, Tetsurou always felt awkward around Iwaizumi. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry. Trust me, I know he’s tough. But I can’t risk being nervous about this around Tooru in case he picks up on it somehow and it sets him off, so I… I don’t know. I’m just… getting kind of morbid right now.”

“Got to get it out of your system sometime, huh?” Tetsurou says, forcing a half-hearted grin onto his face. 

“Something like that,” Iwaizumi mutters. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Anyway. Stress tends to have a bad effect, so as long as everyone stays calm… I’ll figure this out.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tetsurou laughs.

Iwaizumi eyes him slowly. “You’re good, right?” he asks suddenly.

Frowning, Tetsurou nods. “Kenma said Tooru texted him last night, too. What’s up?”

Iwaizumi sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know. He freaked out about some random guy at the movies and when he got home he started worrying about you. I don’t know what happened, and neither does he, but… You know…”

“He is psychic,” Tetsurou mutters, then groans. “No, he’s going to be  _ unbearable _ about that…”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Doubt it. He’s scared too. I’ve never seen him like that last week before he collapsed.”

Tetsurou is quiet. “I know,” he says finally. “We were worried about him too. I hope he’ll be ok.”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says. “You take care too. I don’t know if it was a fluke or what, but if he picked up on something…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tetsurou mutters. “Ask Kou to sketch the dude for you, and I’ll keep a lookout. Maybe he’s a stalker or whatever.”

_ Or finally the scientists coming to check in on you, _ his brain supplies. Suddenly, his collar feels too tight against his neck and the room feels oddly small. He focuses on keeping his breathing even and copying down what the professor writes on the board.

As soon as the class ends, he waves to Iwaizumi and hurries out of the classroom to find a wall to lean against as he fishes his phone out.

Kenma picks up on the second ring.

_ “What,”  _ he says, not unkindly.

“Hey, kitten,” Tetsurou manages, hoping his voice isn’t shaking. “This is gonna sound dumb.”

_ “Everything you say sounds dumb, _ ” Kenma murmurs, but Tetsurou can tell he means it as encouragement.

“C-could you walk me home?” he says.

_ “You live on campus, Tetsurou,” _ Kenma says, but Kenma only ever uses Tetsurou’s first name when he’s totally and utterly focused on taking care of Tetsurou. It’s a type of code, an easy way for Kenma to say  _ I’m here, I hear you. _ Tetsurou does it with pet names, Kenma does it with his given name. Tetsurou breathes a sigh of relief and leans his head against the wall.  _ “What’s your last class?” _

“Radiation therapy,” Tetsurou mutters.

_ “I’ll be there,” _ Kenma says.

“Thanks.”

_ “I love you. _ ”

Tetsurou smiles. “I love you too.”

Kenma hangs up with a click, but Tetsurou feels better already.

-X-

Tetsurou’s boyfriend is really very attractive. He’s wearing skinny jeans today, the rich purple ones with the faint patterns that Tetsurou likes. His hoodie is tight around his waist, hood loose around his shoulders, showing off the edge of his shirt. The sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, long, velvety purple gloves stretching up his forearms. He has one foot pressed against the wall as he fiddles with his phone, and he looks like a model with his golden eyes focused like that.

His attention slides over to Tetsurou slowly. “Are you just going to stare at me all day?” he mumbles.

“I could,” Tetsurou breathes, and Kenma wrinkles his nose.

“You’re out of my league,” Kenma says. “Looks-wise.”

“Am not,” Tetsurou says, eyes tracing the slant of Kenma’s nose and the sharp lines of his chin.

“Are too.”

“Am  _ not _ .”

Kenma grasps his waist and pulls him forward with ease. Tetsurou knows it’s a calculated move. It fits with the playful argument, but it’s also a display of strength, of Kenma’s ability to protect him. “Are too,” he says softly, and Tetsurou is too busy pulling Kenma’s hood up and wrapping himself around Kenma’s neck to answer.

Kenma runs his fingers down Tetsurou’s spine, pulling out a small shudder, but he doesn’t say anything until they’re back at Tetsurou’s dorm room, just holds Tetsurou’s hand as they walk. Once they’re inside, he pushes Tetsurou onto the bed, carefully, and then straddles him.

“You’re freaked out,” he says, leaning over Tetsurou.

Tetsurou nods. “Yeah, I just…” he mutters. “It hits suddenly and I can’t shake it.”

Kenma nods. “Akaashi does the same thing. It’s normal.” He tweaks Tetsurou’s nose a little. “Come here, let me hold you.”

He flops over and Tetsurou hurries to wriggle down into his arms. He likes holding Kenma, but he is not at all opposed to the fact that it’s been happening the other way around more often. “Hey Kenma?” he whispers. “Can I ask for something really ridiculous?”

“You’ve never needed permission before,” Kenma says dryly.

“Could you... like… say stuff?” Tetsurou can feel his cheeks burning. He’s not at all sure if this is a sex thing or not, but if it’s a sex thing then it’s sort of a lame sex thing, which he already has a lot of, and which Kenma will absolutely laugh at.

Kenma raises an eyebrow. “You want me to keep talking?”

Tetsurou can feel himself blushing straight to his toes. “Well… yeah. Your voice is soothing, but also… could you like… um…” He groans and buries his face in Kenma’s shoulder.

“It’s really incredible how much of a dweeb you are,” Kenma murmurs. “I won’t laugh at you.”

“Just be… really protective? With words?” Tetsurou mutters into Kenma’s chest.

“Ah,” Kenma says. “You want me to talk about how I’d rip anyone who hurt you limb from limb.”

“ _ Yes, _ ” Tetsurou breathes.

Kenma chews at his lip. “Alright. Give me a second to think of what to say, but I think I can do that.” He strokes at the base of Tetsurou’s neck, gloves soft against the small hairs there. Tetsurou shifts so that he’s nestled into the crook of Kenma’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Kenma murmurs.

-X-

By the time Koutarou stumbles back into their room, a blushing Akaashi wrapped around his arm, Tetsurou has started doing his reading while Kenma sits in his lap and plays his game. He wonders vaguely if Kenma has done his own homework.

Koutarou ruffles through his papers and hands something to Akaashi. “Whaddya think?” he mutters, and Akaashi nods quietly.

“It’s good, Koutarou,” he murmurs.

Tetsurou watches them, and the way they’ve grown accustomed to each other’s movements to the point that their motions are fluid around each other. “What’s that, Kou?”

“My final art project!” Koutarou says. “But you can’t see it, you have to see the big reveal at the end of the semester. Keiji only gets to see it because I need his opinion on stuff.”

Tetsurou smiles. “Alright,” he says. “Looking forward to it.” He chews at his lip. “Hey, did Iwaizumi talk to you already?”

Koutarou blinks at him. “Huh?”

“Is Oikawa-san alright?” Akaashi asks immediately.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Tetsurou says. He repeats what Iwaizumi told him.

Akaashi frowns. “Are  _ you _ alright?” he asks, kneeling beside Tetsurou on the bed. Kenma shifts to let him snuggle close, one elbow stretching over Tetsurou’s chest. 

“Of course,” Tetsurou says. It’s the truth. Now that Kenma’s been with him all day, he doesn’t feel nervous anymore. It feels like Tooru’s warning is more like something said offhand after a nightmare than a real warning. Still, it’s soothing in a different way to have Akaashi here, and to know that he probably understands exactly what Tetsurou feels. 

“Good,” Akaashi says, kissing him softly, his long fingers gentle along his cheeks. “Would you like to spend the night at the Institute with us? Oikawa-san is still at Iwaizumi-san’s, we could pull the beds together…” He kisses ever so carefully along the ridge of Tetsurou’s nose. Koutarou collapses over his legs, leaving Tetsurou entirely covered by his boyfriends.

Tetsurou laughs. “No, I’ve got a class at seven tomorrow,” he murmurs. “But I won’t say no to more cuddles.”

“Bro!” Koutarou cries, rolling over so that he can hug Tetsurou’s legs at the knee. “I’ll cuddle you as much as you want!”

“I’m sure Tetsurou is overjoyed to have his knees cradled tenderly like that, Koutarou,” Akaashi says dryly, stroking at Tetsurou’s hair, his shoulder slipped under Tetsurou’s head.

“If you’re jealous I’ll cuddle your knees too,” Koutarou laughs. “You have nice knees.”

Akaashi smiles at that a little. “Oh, do I,” he murmurs. “Have you put a lot of thought into my knees?”

“Yeah!” Koutarou cries. “I put a lot of thought into all of you!”

Akaashi snorts into Tetsurou’s hair, sighing out as he nestles into it. “So soft,” he murmurs.

“You guys are gonna crush me if you all sit on me,” Tetsurou laughs.

In response, Kenma just shifts so that he’s sitting even more squarely on Tetsurou’s chest, making Akaashi smile and Koutarou chuckle heartily.

-X-

Kenma and Akaashi leave for the night, though Koutarou says in Tetsurou’s bed, his gentle snores lulling Tetsurou to sleep, but by the time Tetsurou wakes up, Koutarou has already left, a little post-it note beside his bed saying “GONE TO INSTITUTE FOR JOG WITH KEIJI. CALL IF NEED ANYTHING,” with a little winking owl. Tetsurou smiles and picks up the post-it note, sticking it to the notebook for his class.

The class is precisely as mind-numbing as one might expect from a class at seven in the morning. Tetsurou doodles little hearts onto the post-it note from Koutarou, planning the rest of his day. He still has papers to grade, and he hasn’t eaten today. He’ll have to grab food by himself, since Kenma and Akaashi have a literature class after this and Koutarou is in the studio most of the time these days.

He’s wrong, it turns out. He finds Tooru milling about in the hallway as he gets out of class.

He seems to be lost.

“Hey,” Tetsurou mutters, sliding up beside Tooru. “Oikawa. You alright there?”

Tooru blinks at him. “Uh,” he says, rubbing at his temple. “Yes. I just took my medication and I don’t think I had time to sleep it off entirely.” He looks sheepishly at Tetsurou. “To be honest, I’ve forgotten where I was supposed to meet Hajime.”

His hair is a little messier than usual, and he looks well rested enough, but he’s blinking a little too slowly and his eyes are a little hazy.

“Doesn’t he have neuropsychology right now?” Tetsurou asks.

“Uh… yeah,” Tooru says. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“It’s not over for another hour.”

Tooru blinks at him, then groans. “Right. I set my alarm for earlier so that I could take a shower and eat first, but I think I just stumbled over here instead.” He sighs, then pouts at the floor. “This is my first day actually doing things with my medication and it makes me so  _ sleepy _ .”

Tetsurou laughs. “Come on, I haven’t eaten yet either. Let’s get something from the cafeteria.”

He buys Tooru a plate of food, and he watches as Tooru munches at it happily. He looks better, the usual light in his eyes finally back. “Tetsu-chan, you’re staring at me,” Tooru says.

“Sorry,” Tetsurou says, resting his chin on his hands. “You look good.”

“Tetsu-chan, are your three boyfriends not enough?” Tooru drawls. “Iwa-chan will get jealous if you start on me too…”

Tetsurou snorts. “I wouldn’t date you if you paid me,” he says. Tooru squawks in indignation, though Tetsurou is certain the feeling is mutual. Their relationship is something that must remain platonic at all costs. “But we were all worried about you.”

Tooru groans. His voice is a high whine that disguises his nerves well, but not perfectly. “Honestly, I’m getting tired of everyone telling me how  _ worried _ they were. I’m starting to feel like I was on death’s door a week ago.” He sighs, suddenly a little more serious. “Worse, I wonder if I was. It’s kind of scary, to be honest.”

Tetsurou sighs, rubbing at his neck. “You know, if anyone’s going to get through telepathy unscathed, it’d be you. You’re a strong guy.”

The smile Tooru gives him is lethal. “What a compliment, Tetsu-chan. I’ll remember it,” he says, eyes sharp. Tetsurou rolls his eyes, and Tooru smiles ruefully. “You know I blew out my knee when I was eighteen.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Tetsurou says. It had been only two years after Tooru and Kenma had moved in together, and only one since they’d stopped passive-aggressively hating each other, but it was probably around the same time that Kenma had become Tooru’s friend, sitting up with him when Tooru bawled about his knee like a five year old.

“It still hurts sometimes. Not often, but sometimes,” Tooru says. “Rainy days mostly.” He peers out the window. “That’s my nature, isn’t it? Hitting everything until it breaks, even if I’m the one who’s breaking.”

Tetsurou is quiet for a while, then forces a laugh. “Morbid much?” he says. “Come on, Tooru, why do you have to be the one that breaks? Maybe it’s the statistics that are gonna break, right?”

Tooru’s at his most beautiful when he’s finally quiet, and right now Tetsurou has to admit he’s a little blown away by the contemplative look that Tooru is giving him, a corner of his mouth quirking up in a hesitant twitch, one arm thrown over the back of his seat. “You say quite a lot of smart things, and yet you always make them sound dumb,” he says finally.

“ _ You’re _ one to talk,” Tetsurou mutters into his coffee.

Tooru turns up his nose with a huff. “Please, I make everything sound  _ spectacular _ .”

“You’re an astrophysicist who talks like a diva.”

“Aesthetic,” Tooru declares with a peace sign. He takes a long sip of his own coffee, nearly spitting it out when Tetsurou bursts into laughter. “Why is your laugh so hideous?” he splutters, trying to swallow before he bursts into laughter again.

Tetsurou tries to argue but he interrupts himself with a loud snort, which kind of shoots the argument in the foot right there. Tooru loses it at the sound, shoulders shaking as he bends over.

“Alright, alright, space shitlord,” Tetsurou says finally. “Let’s find your boyfriend, huh?”

“I think I’ll manage now that I’ve woken up properly,” Tooru says. “Thank you for saving my comatose ass.”

“Well, I think Iwaizumi might be rather upset without your ass…”

“Really, Tetsu-chan?” Tooru says, with a tired tilt of the eyebrows.

Tetsurou laughs. Tooru frowns, and Tetsurou frowns too, trying to figure out what changed the mood. “What?”

Looking around as though searching for someone, Tooru shakes his head. “I… I don’t know. I just… ugh,” he says, chewing at the inside of his lip.

“Yeah,” Tetsurou says gently, looking around to make sure there’s nothing worth noting. Nothing and no one sticks out to him. “I’ll walk you to the psych building.”

“Alright,” Tooru says, letting Tetsurou put a hand on his back and usher him outside, brow furrowed.

He doesn’t seem to be in pain, just a little distracted, but Tetsurou keeps watching him carefully to see if there’s any signs of something cropping up. As they leave the cafeteria, it seems to clear up, but Tooru looks up as though he hadn’t noticed them leaving at all.

“What was that?” Tetsurou asks.

“I don’t know, I keep getting… flashes,” Tooru mutters.

“Flashes?”

“Yeah, I… they don’t feel like… I don’t know how to describe them. Like… like something, some information just… appears in my head but I didn’t think of it or  _ feel  _ it, it’s just…” He sighs, grimacing. “I don’t know how to say it. I think it’s been happening with Hajime as well, but it’s not bothersome when we’re alone. But…” He glances back at the cafeteria. “I just… something… I don’t know. I don’t have… the words for it.”

Tetsurou frowns, but he nods anyway. “Alright. You’re ok, though, right? No pain?”

Tooru shakes his head. “No, it’s fine, it’s just… weird that I can’t place my finger on what’s going on.” He squints at Tetsurou. “But you… you should be careful, alright?”

Tetsurou frowns. “Again?”

“Yeah,” Tooru murmurs. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you why, it’s just a feeling.”

Tetsurou sighs. “My last class is near the art studio. I’ll walk home with Kou, alright?”

Tooru chews at his lip. “Alright.”

“Here,” Tetsurou says, steering Tooru a little. “Psych building. You gonna be ok from here?”

Tooru nods. “Yes, Tetsu-chan,” he laughs, back to himself yet again. “I feel fine. Take care!”

Tetsurou smirks at him, waving as he walks away backwards, only frowning when he turns away. He sees Tooru jog up the stairs to the building door out of the corner of his eye, and he looks fairly jovial, as though nothing’s happened, but Tetsurou feels unnerved yet again.

Worse yet, now that he’s alone he feels as though he’s being watched.

He sighs. There’s a lot of people here, going to and from their classes. No one is going to snatch him while he’s walking to and from class. There simply aren’t enough secluded areas.

That thought gets him through the day, dragging him through one class and then the other two, but by the time the fourth class of the day ends, he’s fidgeting nervously. His last class is a late class, and the art building is a little bit off to the side. There’s a small stretch along the back of the bio lab that might be empty at this hour.

Tetsurou sighs, pulling his bag close and walking quickly. It’s still in the middle of a fairly crowded college campus. It would be hard for anyone to jump him there.

He dashes down the steps and resists the urge to just sprint across campus. The bio lab looms above him, and he looks around quickly, glancing around behind himself. There’s a few guys milling about the field behind him, all students, but most of them are heading off in the other direction.

He quickens his strides, because at least he can take comfort in the fact that he has damn long strides, and ducks behind the bio lab. Someone swoops after him, one of the guys who he’d seen wandering about. Apparently he had misjudged the interest that one had presented.

“Kuroo Tetsurou?” says a deep voice behind him.

Before he does so much as turn, Tetsurou quickly sizes up the area around him. There are a few pebbles at his feet, and if he could just bend down to snatch one it would make quite the explosive, which it would buy him time to get away. His keys, too, would work, and they’d be easier to reach, though they’d be a bitch to replace.

He slides his hands up towards the pocket of his bag as he turns, careful not to make any sudden movements. “I’m afraid I don’t know him,” he murmurs.

The man before him is just a centimeter or two taller than him, but he is built much thicker, and it feels like he dwarfs Tetsurou entirely. He’s several steps closer than Tetsurou had thought, and his eyes flicker down, giving Tetsurou only a moment to grab for his keys, a moment that is only a hair too long.

His finger brushes ever so slightly against the key ring before his hand is snatched back.

He hears the snap before he feels it, but his body responds accordingly, curling into itself even before the pain shoots through his wrist and up his arm. It had only been a flick of the thumb, and yet this man had snapped Tetsurou’s wrist.

In the next movement, he slams Tetsurou against the building beside them. There’s no one nearby, but even if there were, Tetsurou wouldn’t have any air left to scream for help. One hand is pinned, and his body hasn’t quite recovered from the shock well enough to employ the other one, leaving the man’s other hand free to come up around his throat, pinning Tetsurou’s head to the wall as well.

“It would be rather impolite of you to use your powers against me when I am the one who gave you them.”

Tetsurou’s blood runs cold and he kicks out, trying to move so much as an inch, but the man feels like he’s made of concrete. “What do you want?”

“Only a small favor,” the man says. His face is impassive, like he doesn’t understand why Tetsurou is fighting him at all. “I don’t wish to harm you.”

Nonetheless, he presses his hand harder against Tetsurou’s throat, ignoring his progressively more feeble kicking and clawing as he tries to get away, brain registering with a dreadful panic that he can’t breathe. He tries to call out, scream for help, but not even a tiny whistle makes it out of his crushed throat.

He can’t see, can’t think… he thinks his foot might still be scraping against the wall in an effort to get away, but it’s useless. He’s floating, or maybe falling, and then he’s not aware of anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ushijima is just bad at talking to people, he won't hurt Kuroo very badly, right? RIGHT???
> 
> Next week: Kenma tries to hate Lev and Yaku but everyone is against him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t react. There’s no need to get anyone else involved. I only need a small favor from you.”
> 
> Kenma lazily slides a notepad over from his nightstand, scrawling a quick Don’t react, just get Ukai. Quietly, Kuro is in trouble, and pushing it over to Akaashi. Akaashi only stares at it for a moment, then looks away.
> 
> “Alright,” he says. His mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. “I’m listening.”
> 
> Akaashi very slowly, casually, stands up and pads out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting Wednesdays from now on, since I always end up editing on Tuesdays when I have the most classes? I don't know I don't understand it either. Also, I've added a very rough estimate for number of chapters, but it may stretch out to 22. Once I've finished writing the chapters I'll probably change the number and make a note of it.
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy!

Kenma jumps when his phone rings. There’s not a lot of people who actually  _ call  _ him. Akaashi snorts a little at his disgusted look. Kenma slides his phone over, frowning when he sees the caller ID. Tetsurou almost never calls without texting first. Something must be wrong.

He picks up quickly, tossing his DS onto the bed. “Kuro, what…” he starts, but someone cuts him off. Someone who is certainly  _ not _ Tetsurou.

“Kozume Kenma, yes?”

“Yes,” Kenma says, slowly. Every vein in his body seems ice cold. 

“Don’t react. There’s no need to get anyone else involved. I only need a small favor from you.”

Kenma lazily slides a notepad over from his nightstand, scrawling a quick  _ Don’t react, just get Ukai. Quietly, Kuro is in trouble, _ and pushing it over to Akaashi. Akaashi only stares at it for a moment, then looks away.

“Alright,” he says. His mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. “I’m listening.”

Akaashi very slowly, casually, stands up and pads out of the room.

“I don’t wish to hurt your lover,” the voice continues. “However I have questions for you.”

“Where is Tetsurou,” Kenma says, struggling to keep his voice even.

“He is here, with me. He will be returned to you without further harm if you answer my questions. Would you like to talk to him as assurance that he is well?”

“Yes,” Kenma says, and there’s the sound of the phone being jostled and placed up against someone else. “Kuro?”

“Hey,” Tetsurou rasps, and he sounds like he’s developed a cough recently, but it’s certainly Tetsurou. “I’m alright, but don’t…”

The phone is clearly pulled away before he can finish. Kenma knows what Tetsurou wanted to say.  _ Don’t yield, don’t give him what he wants, whatever it is _ . “How do I know you’re not going to kill him after you get what you want?” he says quietly.

“I assure you my promises are important to me. I swear that he will be returned to you, alive. However, if you do not cooperate soon, I will be forced to motivate you. Perhaps I will break his other wrist.”

Kenma’s stomach lurches. “Other wrist,” he breathes, unsure if he’s frightened or angry.

“Preemptive measures were necessary. His powers are quite dangerous. Like I said earlier, I have no desire to hurt him.”

“Ask your question,” Kenma grits out, trying to remember every lilt of this man’s voice so that if he ever hears it in person he can kill the owner.

“One of my men was sent to your residency to retrieve and Akaashi Keiji. You absorbed his powers permanently.”

Kenma bites his lips.  _ Deescalate.  _ “It was an accident. I was injured and we got tangled up.”

“So you don’t recall how this happened.”

“I killed him,” Kenma says. “That’s what happened.”

“And it was the death that made the transfer permanent?”

“I don’t know. I think so,” Kenma says. “Like I say, I wasn’t exactly coherent at the time.”

“And the memories,” the man continues. “You can’t avoid absorbing them?”

“No,” Kenma mutters. These are not the questions he was predicting, and that makes it difficult to know how to react. Kenma doesn’t do well at being verbal in unprecedented situations. He wonders if he should be more subtle with these, but he can’t strategize and speak at once and if he goes silent there’s a risk Tetsurou will get hurt.

“Unfortunate,” the man says. “I apologize for this aggressive approach. Given our history, I did not think you would be willing to speak to me without a threat. Your lover’s wrist has been splinted, and it should heal promptly. I will text you the address where he is with this phone. Thank you for your cooperation.”

He hangs up too quickly for Kenma to say anything else. Ukai comes into the room only moments after, as Kenma’s phone vibrates. There’s an address in the text, sure enough. Kenma blinks up at him.

“What’s happening?” Ukai asks.

“I’m not sure,” Kenma mutters. “Either they set a trap for us, or it’s already resolved.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone took Kuro, but they only wanted to know about my powers. I’m not sure why, but they told me where he is. Supposedly.”

“Alright,” Ukai says. “We’ll check it out with Kageyama.”

“I’m coming too,” Akaashi says from behind Ukai.

“Akaashi…” Kenma starts, but Akaashi shakes his head.

“It’s alright. I can manage. And my powers  _ are  _ useful in a fight, now that I’ve been practicing.”

Kenma sighs. Tetsurou is already in trouble, and the last thing he wants is to put Akaashi in danger as well, but he knows he doesn’t have the peace of mind to win an argument against him right now. “Alright.”

-X-

The address is another of the old warehouses on the edge of town. He’s glad they came while it was light out, because it’s that much easier to keep an eye on everything. He cracks open the door, peeking in.

Tetsurou is a few meters from the door, bound to a chair, very furiously trying to work a nail out of the wall with his toe. Otherwise it seems to be empty. Kenma pushes the door open, willing to trust that the mystery man kept his word. Something about him  _ had _ sounded… honorable. “Kuro, what the hell, that’s not going to work,” he says.

Tetsurou blinks up at him, then relaxes. “Kenma,” he breathes. His voice is raspy and there’s bruises all along his throat. “You came?”

“Of course I came,” Kenma mutters, dashing inside, glancing around just to be sure the warehouse is empty. No one pops out at him, so he tears the ropes binding Tetsurou’s arms behind him.

There’s a messy splint over his left wrist, and it looks swollen from what Kenma can see. “He really broke your wrist,” he murmurs, standing up quickly and taking a step back to collect himself.

“Well, given what these people have done before, it’s not so bad,” Tetsurou mutters.

Anger bubbles up in Kenma’s chest and he punches at the wall to let it off. His fist goes straight through the wall. Tetsurou chokes, eyes wide. Kenma tries to catch his breath. “Right,” he says, his voice still shaking as he withdraws his hand, small bits of mortar coming with it. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“O…okay,” Tetsurou says, licking his lips.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Kenma asks.

Tetsurou blinks at him, then grins sheepishly. “It’s only my wrist,” he mutters, cheeks going red.

Kenma just raises an eyebrow at him.

Leaning in, Tetsurou whispers, “Yeah, but I think I’ll keep my dignity.”

“What dignity?” Kenma snorts. He pulls Tetsurou to his feet and keeps his hand on his back. “Come on.”

Tetsurou slips his arm around Kenma’s shoulder as they walk, relaxing as Kenma holds him closer. They walk outside, where Ukai is waiting and Akaashi is already bounding towards him, wrapping his arms around Tetsurou and kissing his cheek and his lips before pulling back. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my wrist,” Tetsurou says, showing the splint sheepishly. “And I think they took some blood, but it didn’t hurt.”

Kenma frowns. “Let’s get you back to the Institute and have McCoy check you out, alright?”

-X-

“You’re healthy as ever, Kuroo-kun,” McCoy says finally. He’s been staying around until all the commotion with Akaashi and Tooru dies down, which doesn’t exactly seem like it’s going to happen anytime soon. “Nothing out of the ordinary. It seems they really did just want you to get some information out of Kozume-kun.”

“It wasn’t exactly sensitive information,” Kenma murmurs. “They just wanted to know about my powers. How I got my strength.”

“Well, let’s not dwell on it,” McCoy says. “It’s fortunate no one got seriously hurt, and that’s what we should be focusing on.”

“Is the Professor getting any closer to finding out who these people are?” Akaashi asks, tracing the edges of Tetsurou’s hair. This is the second time Tetsurou’s been taken, and Akaashi likely is as uncomfortable with letting that thought go as Kenma is. 

McCoy sighs and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. They certainly don’t leave many traces, and all the places we know they had bases have been vacated.”

There’s a poof of smoke and Lev is clattering over the infirmary beds. Kenma almost punches him just out of reflex. He’s still jumpy about the idea that someone had snatched Tetsurou right out from under their nose. He realizes that no one has told Koutarou about it yet, and he’s certain Koutarou will be rather upset about the fact that Tetsurou was only a few minutes away when he was attacked.

“I heard Kuroo-san was hurt! I brought chocolate to make him feel better!” Lev cries.

Tetsurou laughs. For some reason, he actually likes Lev. Kenma tries to glare hard enough for the both of them. Akaashi looks vaguely bothered, but it’s not enough to carry Tetsurou’s weight for him. “Thanks, Lev,” he says. “What kind of chocolate did you give me?”

Lev bounces over to him to show him the chocolate bar. Tetsurou takes it from him gingerly. “Ah, mint chocolate. My favorite,” he says. “That’s very thoughtful, Lev.”

“I hope you feel better soon, Kuroo-san!” he chirps, glancing back at Kenma and then leaning forward to whisper, loudly, to Tetsurou. “Kenma-san is much scarier when you’re feeling badly.”

Tetsurou chuckles, giving Kenma a playfully scolding look. “That he is, Lev, that he is,” he says. “But I’m doing fine, really.”

Lev’s tail twitches happily, and it’s… dammit, it’s sort of cute. Kenma wants to chuck him out a window. “That’s good to hear, Kuroo-san! I’ll tell Yaku-san. I think he was worried too, but he won’t come see you because he says you don’t like him.”

It’s sort of true. At this point Tetsurou and Yaku have set aside the blatant suspicion of each other, but they’re still… jumpy. They’ve sort of bonded over the fact that clearly both of them are fond of Lev, if exasperated, and over the fact that they both want the best for their respective loved ones and would do anything to achieve it. Otherwise, both seem to be waiting for the other to officially bury the hatchet first.

Kenma would help, but he’s busy being petty and disliking Yaku, Lev, and Nishinoya.

“I’ll talk to him,” Tetsurou says. Kenma huffs. He doesn’t like the thought that Tetsurou will be the one trying to make peace finally, though technically he knows that without Yaku and Lev they never would have rescued him the first time, so it’s not like Yaku owes them anything.

“Okay,” Lev says, and poofs away.

Tetsurou laughs, shaking his head. “You’ve got to admit, Kenma, he’s entertaining.”

“And sweet,” Akaashi adds. Traitor.

Kenma blows at his hair. “I don’t like him.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Tetsurou chides.

“You  _ were _ being stubborn too,” Kenma says, a touch reproachfully.

“Yeah, well… we got off on the wrong foot, but they’re on our side. Same boat, if you were. Yaku’s been working really hard with the Professor to find these people. Just because I was stressed out by him doesn’t mean I was right,” Tetsurou says.

“They’re not unlike myself,” Akaashi adds, leaving Tetsurou’s side to sit by Kenma. “Haiba-san and Yaku-san have been in the laboratory for nearly their whole lives. Nishinoya-san was there for years. They were test subjects, and it must have been terrifying for them to come join us, but they did. I know you have your reasons for being wary of them, but there’s really no reason you should be any less kind to them than you were to me.”

Kenma gives him a withering look. Akaashi knows how to tug at the heartstrings, and nowadays he’s doing it  _ on purpose _ . “Someone needs to talk to Koutarou. And Tooru.”

“I’ll talk to Koutarou,” Akaashi says. “I’m sure he’ll be upset, but I’ll manage.” He smiles at Tetsurou a little. “Though I can’t guarantee that he won’t crush you in a hug the next time he sees you.” He pulls his phone out and steps away to let Tetsurou and Kenma talk.

“I’ll prepare my ribs,” Tetsurou laughs. He sighs, flexing his newly healed hand. “Anyway. I should probably start carrying something I can use as a cherry bomb. I hesitated because I didn’t want to blow up my keys.”

“I’m going to murder you,” Kenma growls. “Keys are replaceable. You are not.”

“I know, I know,” Tetsurou murmurs. “But in a situation as quick as that sometimes you get screwed up.” His eyes light up and Kenma can already tell his next sentence will be stupid. “I should get throwing stars!”

“You want to get weaponry so that you can make it exploding weaponry,” Kenma says dryly.

Tetsurou pouts at him. “Come on! Exploding throwing stars would be cool!”

“You’d have to practice aiming them,” Kenma says. “Maybe a volleyball, you’re good with those.”

“First of all I can’t carry a volleyball with me everywhere, second of all that explosion would probably be huge! I’d kill myself with it too.”

“Koutarou’s definitely going to crush you,” Akaashi says, rejoining them. “How are you planning to kill yourself?”

“I’m planning not to. I need something to use as cherry bombs in a tight situation. That’s not keys.”

“A handful of pebbles in your pocket?”

“That sounds heavy and uncomfortable.”

“Well, if you’re just going to be difficult,” Akaashi says, crossing his arms, “then I’d be happy to stuff a few actual cherries down your shirt.”

Tetsurou leans his head onto Akaashi’s chest. Akaashi tries not to smile and fails. “You’re a mean person,” Tetsurou whines, and Kenma kisses the back of his neck for his efforts. 

-X-

Kenma runs into Yaku while he’s getting something to eat for Tetsurou. Yaku is shorter than him, which is comforting. He looks nervous, rubbing at his arm. “Hey,” he says. “How’s Kuroo?”

Glaring at him for a moment, Kenma continues to look through the fridge. “He’s fine,” he says. “I assume you bought him the chocolate.”

“Yeah,” Yaku says. “Lev was going to buy it, the idiot, but I can’t let him run around looking like he does…”

Kenma hums as dismissively as he can manage.

“Listen…” Yaku mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“For?” Kenma asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I just… if I’d have given you guys better information, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I was under the impression that you didn’t have any better information,” Kenma mutters, slamming the fish he’d managed to find onto the counter and grabbing a knife to slice it with.

“I don’t,” Yaku says. “They cleared our facility. That’s all I ever saw of anything. There were rumors, occasionally, but we never saw the guys in charge. Just one of the doctors who worked with them.”

Kenma pauses. “By cleared the facility…” he says slowly. It must have happened fast, too fast for the Professor or Ukai to get anything out of them. Really fast. There must have been several newly made mutants there, not including the destabilized ones. Transporting all of them would have taken time, time that the facility wouldn’t have had…

“Don’t tell Lev,” Yaku says quietly. “All their formulas and research were backed up. They torched the place.”

There’s an oppressive silence between them. “Did you have friends there?” Kenma murmurs.

Yaku shakes his head. “Most of the others went nuts. It was really just the three of us that were people anymore. But… you know. It’s still awful to think about.” He sighs. “And I don’t want Lev to find out. It’s a miracle he’s managed to keep up some kind of innocence after everything.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kenma says, before he can back out. 

Yaku tilts his head at him.

“That we haven’t figured this out yet. Or that Kuro got hurt. It’s not your fault,” he says, closing his eyes and sighing as he forces the words out.

“I really wish I could help more,” Yaku murmurs. “But we were kept in the dark about a lot of things.”

“Just worry about settling in,” Kenma mutters, using his search for a frying pan to hide his face. He hates conceding anything, sometimes even more than Tetsurou does, but to be quite honest, it was probably time.

“Oh,” Yaku breathes. “Yeah, no, we’re just fine here. This is the nicest place Lev and I have ever lived in. And I think Noya is ok too, though…”

“Though?” Kenma mutters.

“It’s nothing, really,” Yaku says, looking down at his hands.

Kenma groans inwardly and turns around, setting the pan down and shoveling fish into it. “You can tell me. I’m usually more welcoming than I’ve been, so if you need anything, I’ll help now.”

“Ah… it’s just… Nishinoya was a runaway like us, but he ran away from home much later. So he’s… you know. He’s got friends. Still. Out and about in the world. He’s been having troubles figuring out whether to track them down or not.”

“Akaashi contacted his parents not long ago. They were really happy to see him,” Kenma sighs. “Do you need help looking them up?”

“Yeah,” Yaku says. “Would you come with me to talk to them?”

Kenma groans inwardly again, louder this time. He’s certain his face is showing just how little he’d like to do that. This is what making peace and connecting with people gives him. More connecting with people. “Sure,” he grits out. “No problem.”

“Thanks, Kozume-san,” Yaku says, relieved.

“It’s just Kenma,” he mutters.

“Kenma, then,” Yaku says with a smile. “I’ll get you the guy’s name. Thank you for helping.”

Kenma murmurs a response of some kind, setting the fish on the burner to fry as Yaku waves shyly and slips back out of the kitchen. By the time he’s gotten the fish onto a plate and taken it back to the living room where Tetsurou is sitting, Koutarou has already burst into the room and picked Tetsurou up into a hug, squeezing tight.

“I’m so sorry!” he cries. “If I’d  have known you were coming over I would have come out to meet you!”

“Kou… it’s alright… you’re crushing me…” Tetsurou wheezes.

Koutarou sets him down on the sofa again. “I can’t believe I left you alone!” he squawks, clutching his head. “Oh, man, I’m the worst boyfriend ever!”

“Kou! It’s fine. I’m fine,” Tetsurou laughs, trying to peek at Koutarou through his fingers. 

Fanning out his fingers to do it for him, Koutarou relaxes a little. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Kou, I’m sure,” Tetsurou says softly. Koutarou tumbles onto the couch, flopping down so that his face is in Tetsurou’s lap. Tetsurou smiles softly and strokes the hairs at the back of his neck. Kenma’s heart softens as he sees the gesture.

He slides the plate of fish into Tetsurou’s hands, kissing him quickly when Tetsurou looks up at him with pleading eyes. “Love you,” Tetsurou murmurs.

“Only because I made you fish,” Kenma mutters, but he runs his fingers through Tetsurou’s hair anyway. “Love you too.”

The door opens with a loud bang, because Oikawa Tooru is incapable of doing anything without fanfare. “I just heard! Are you alright?! I ran all the way here!” he cries, breathless, before bending over to support himself on his knees, sucking in breaths desperately. Kenma is shocked he even managed to get three sentences out. “Oh, that was a mistake.”

Iwaizumi skids into the room after him. “Idiot!” he roars. “Sit down! You shouldn’t be straining yourself like this!”

He pushes Tooru into the nearest armchair, storming off to get him water. Tooru flops over, wincing as he flexes his knee.

“I’m fine, by the way,” Tetsurou says. “But you were right.”

Tooru chews at his lip, still breathing heavily. “The guy who took you. Tall guy? Serious face? Kinda flat hair?”

Tetsurou nods. “Really built, too,” he says.

Tooru nods. “That’s the guy we saw. He must have been looking for you.”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou says. “Kou, you think you can sketch us something to give Ukai? We should probably keep our eyes out for this guy.”

Koutarou sits up quickly, nodding eagerly, glad to have something to do. “Yeah, sure. I got a sketch pad in Keiji’s room, I’ll go get it.” He dashes off with a clatter.

Tooru laughs unsteadily. “I guess I must have read his mind,” he says. Kenma doesn’t miss the look of desperation that flits over his face before he grins brightly. “I’m glad you’re alright, though, it’s such a relief.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tetsurou says. “That’s enough of the spotlight for me, though, thanks. It’s been nice, but you can have it.”

Tooru smiles, and there’s just the tiniest bit of ruefulness in it. “Ah, yes. Sooner or later the spotlight always comes back to me.”

-X-

_ Tanaka Ryuunosuke _ , Kenma thinks. Fortunately, it seems Tanaka goes to the same college as the rest of them. Even more fortunately, it seems that he knows Shoyo, at least going by his Facebook profile. Unfortunately, he looks like a loud person. Even less fortunately, Shoyo is also a loud person, one who doesn’t know anything about mutants or the situation, and who Kenma now has to call.

Kenma groans. Someone owes him something for this. Tetsurou snorts from where he’s lying on Kenma’s bed beside him, uncaring of Kenma’s suffering. He dials Shoyo’s number quickly before he can think twice of it.

_ “Kenma!” _ Shoyo cries as he picks up.  _ “You’re actually calling! Wow!” _

“Yes,” Kenma mutters. “I need a favor.”

_ “Sure! You can count on me!” _

“You know a Tanaka Ryuunosuke, right?”

_ “Yeah! He was on the same volleyball team that Kageyama and I are on!” _

“Could you ask him where he lives? There’s someone I want him to see.”

_ “Sure! He lives in the dorm next to Kuroo-san’s, actually, but I’ll text you which room!” _

“Thanks, Shoyo.”

Kenma puts the phone down. That was a lot less painful than he’d thought it would be. Akaashi walks in right at that moment, snorting when he sees Kenma sulking at his phone. “Did you have to call someone?”

“Your mother,” Kenma says automatically. He’s stooped to Tetsurou’s level. This is what it’s come to. Tetsurou lets out an ugly cackle and nearly falls off the bed, stopped only by Kenma grabbing his belt.

“Well, she does like you,” Akaashi says calmly, sitting down on the bed to unlace his shoes. They’re canvas shoes that Koutarou has painted full of colorful little pictures. They make Kenma smile.

“I’m helping Nishinoya reunite with an old friend,” Kenma says.

Akaashi raises his eyebrows, seemingly impressed. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad you’re extending an olive branch.”

Kenma huffs.

“Your quiet, social interaction free room will still be here even after you do something nice for someone,” Akaashi laughs.

“You’re a dick sometimes,” Kenma mutters.

“Likewise,” Akaashi says, laying back onto his bed. 

“I’m proud of you,” Tetsurou says. “All social… helpful… a new Kenma…”

Kenma glowers at him, opening his phone again as Shoyo texts him a number and a lot of exclamation marks. “Are you coming with me to meet this guy?”

“Nope,” Tetsurou says, just grinning at Kenma’s betrayed and horrified look. “Take Yaku. And talk to him. If I go you’ll hide behind me the whole time.”

“Yes,” Kenma says. “That’s what I keep you around for. That’s your job.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Tetsurou says, snuggling up to Kenma’s waist. “I’m taking a day off.”

Akaashi snorts. “Don’t worry, Kenma, Yaku-san is nice to talk to. He’s a very calm person,” he says, standing up. “Anyway, I’ve got to go look for Ukai-san’s pudding cups. He must have found a good place to hide them this time, but I can’t lose. And I’m hungry.”

“You’re in a difficult situation,” Kenma snorts. 

“Harsh words from someone who’s angsting about how he has to talk to people for a single day.”

“I talk to you every day, because I like you,” Kenma mutters. “Also, fuck off.”

Akaashi gives him a thumbs up as he walks out the door. Kenma flips him off in response. Tetsurou is far too entertained by all of this. Koutarou is Kenma’s favorite boyfriend right now.

-X-

“You know, no one’s going to think that you have superpowers just because there’s some blonde in your hair,” Kenma mutters, gesturing at the blonde tips of his own hair.

Nishinoya pulls his hand away from his hair. “I know,” he sighs, tipping his head back and letting out something between a growl and a groan. “It’s just been a while since I went outside.”

“You’ll be fine,” Yaku says. “Come on.”

“You think Ryuu’s finally gotten a girlfriend?” Nishinoya says, as they start walking. Kenma doesn’t want to be here. “He was definitely cool enough for a girlfriend already, but I bet he’s just gotten cooler.” He laughs loudly, as though he’s forgotten he was nervous and is awed at the potential coolness of his old friend. “Aw, man, how cool must he be now?”

“You’ll see him in just a few minutes, so I suppose we’ll see,” Kenma mutters, hands shoved in his pockets.

Yaku gives him a quiet smile, as though he knows just how uncomfortable Kenma is, and appreciates that he’s going through the effort fully. Kenma jerks his head away, not quite ready admit that he likes that reaction.

A guy wearing a hideous sweater and flip-flop combo lets them into the dorm once Nishinoya talks to her happily for a while. Kenma had considered just flying up to one of the windows open upstairs and opening the door from the inside, but perhaps he’d only decided on that plan of action because it involved the least talking. This may have worked better.

They get up to the floor Shoyo had told him, and Nishinoya’s confidence fades a little. “What do I even tell him? You think he’ll even recognize me?” he says.

Kenma sighs and just knocks for him. He honestly doesn’t know what to say to comfort him. The guy who opens the door probably isn’t Tanaka. His hair is different, though Kenma’s painfully awful at recognizing people’s faces from photos. He has an angled jaw and sort of spiky hair, and he’s of fairly average height. He looks like a person who is first and foremost steady.

Fortunately, Nishinoya speaks before he has to figure out whether to ask for Tanaka or not. “Um,” Nishinoya says, sounding almost timid. “Is Tanaka Ryuunosuke here?”

The guy tilts his head. “Yeah, hold on,” he says. “Tanaka! Someone’s looking for you!”

A bald guy sticks his head around the door. There’s a moment of startled silence, and then things explode into noise. _“NOYA???”_ _“RYUUU!!!!”_

Kenma backs away from the chaos. Yaku follows him, ignoring the ever escalating embrace. “Thanks for getting this together,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Kenma mutters.

“Noya’s pretty tough, but I’m glad he’s got a chance to be happy again, you know?”

Kenma shrugs. Now that it’s done, Kenma’s happy about it too. There’s a shout from behind them something along the lines of  _ Holy crap you’re like… Ice Man! _ and Kenma wonders if he should tell them to keep it down. “Well, you know, if you need anything else,” he says. He’s kicking himself for offering, but oh well.

“We’re good for now,” Yaku says. “But hey, if you ever figure out how I get Lev’s blue ass to an amusement park, I’m sure he’d be really happy to go.”

Kenma smiles a little. “I’ll think about it.”

Yaku shifts a little. “Hey, um,” he says. “The guy your friend was drawing? Was he the one who took Kuroo?”

Kenma frowns. “Yes,” he says. Koutarou had started sketching something earlier, but Kenma doesn’t remember how far they’d gotten. It’s not like Koutarou’s a sketch artist, but he did spend a lot of time drawing people’s characters in high school and he’s gotten good at it, and he had both Tetsurou and Tooru feeding him details.

“Well… I’ve seen him before. A few times, I think, but once they had me escort him. His name’s Ushijima… something. It was a few years ago, so I’m not sure,” he says.

Kenma nods. “What was he doing there?” he asks.

“No idea. They had me show him the newest test subjects. He looked pretty disgusted by everything going on in the labs, from what I could tell. He’s a bit of a stoic guy, you know?”

“So what was he looking for?”

“I don’t know. But he skimmed over all the subjects pretty fast, and then he just left.” He furrows his brow for a moment. “No, actually, he did stop at one for a little while, but he seemed pretty uninterested in him, too.”

“What could he do?”  Kenma asks, heart throbbing in his mouth.

“Well, not much of anything,” Yaku says. “His brain was pretty much spilling out his nose by the time Ushijima got to him. But I think he was a telepath until then?”

His heart nearly jumps out of his throat at that. “You’re sure?”

“Uh… yeah,” Yaku says. “Pretty sure. Ushijima asked about it, too, and when I confirmed it he said something about him being weak… or ‘also weak’… I might be making that up, I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says, pulling out his phone and calling Tetsurou. Yaku watches him curiously.

_ “Hey, kitten, what’s up?” _ Tetsurou answers.

“Quick question, were you with Tooru before you got grabbed?”

_ “Not right beforehand, but yeah, I saw him that morning _ ,” Tetsurou says, confused.

“Shit,” Kenma whispers. “Kuro, you were a pit stop, the guy’s following Tooru.”

_ “What?” _

“He’s looking for  _ telepaths, _ that’s why Tooru saw him before you did. Whatever he wanted with us, it was a chore. Tooru’s the one he cares about.”

_ “Shit. I’ll tell Iwaizumi. _ ”

“Thanks.”

Yaku frowns at him as he hangs up. “Your friend’s a telepath? I thought it was only psychic blasts.”

“He’s been… developing new powers. It’s likely he’s a telepath,” Kenma murmurs. “Not absolutely sure, but…”

“Oh,” Yaku says. Kenma raises an eyebrow at his hesitance. “It’s just… look, I don’t think the same rules apply, but the telepaths our labs churned out didn’t live very long.”

“Yeah,” Kenma whispers. “Born telepaths don’t either. But there’s a chance he’ll be ok.” He’s not sure he believes that, but he has to believe it enough to keep saying it. Tooru deserves to be ok, that’s for sure.

Yaku nods, hesitant. “I really hope so.”

-X-

“You’re sure this is the guy who took you?” Shimada says, later that evening, after Kenma and Yaku have relayed everything.

Tetsurou nods.

“And you saw him too?”

Tooru nods as well. He looks a little pale.

Shimada sighs. “Well, shit,” he says. “This guy’s a mob boss.”

“What?” Tooru blurts.

“A mob boss,” Shimada repeats. “Ushijima Wakatoshi. Recently inherited the family business. Up until now he’s just been managing their finances, barely showed his face in public at all. He doesn’t seem to be as ruthless as his father. In fact, I’ve heard he has quite the moral code. But he’s also efficient. Doesn’t drop evidence. And if he’s tied up with all this… that just makes it even harder to nab him.”

“Hold on,” Ukai says. “You’re telling me we have someone who was already kidnapped by him and we can’t do anything?”

“We don’t have anything concrete,” Shimada says. “Just a witness statement. From, sorry, a mutant, which is very, very hard to get past a court. Especially given that mob lawyers tend to fight dirty.”

“But…” Kenma says.

“Look, we have a name now so we might be able to connect a few dots. We’re further than we were before, and if I understand correctly, he’s expressed a lack of interest in Kuroo-kun at the moment. If we try to bring him into a court case, it’s likely it’ll put him back in danger.”

Kenma wants to protest, but for a moment his mind only supplies,  _ It’ll keep Kuro safe _ . Luckily, Iwaizumi is still there.

“Hold on, what about Tooru?”

“There’s no safer place than the Institute, Iwa-chan,” Tooru mumbles, knees drawn up to his chest. “And besides, I get the feeling that Ushiwaka-chan isn’t interested in me until he’s certain I’m a real telepath, so it’s likely I’ll be dead before he gets to me.”

Silence snaps over the room like a whip. Tooru doesn’t seem to be aware that everyone is staring at him. Iwaizumi’s hand reaches for his head and then hovers there, like he’s unsure if he’s supposed to touch at the moment.

Suga, who had been quiet the whole time, slowly steps forward and bends down beside Tooru, pulling his chin over to face him. “It’s pretty tense in here, isn’t it?” he says gently. “A lot of feelings, right? Pretty hard to be optimistic when everyone else is so stressed, huh?”

Tooru blinks at him for a moment, then nods. “Yes,” he croaks. “Yes, that might be… that sounds… yeah.”

“Come on,” Suga says. “I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed in here too. Let’s go somewhere quiet, alright?”

Iwaizumi shoots out of his chair to help Suga get Tooru to his feet, especially when Tooru leans to the side dangerously. Suga nods at Iwaizumi gently, then guides Tooru out of the room, leaving Iwaizumi to fall back into his chair, sinking his face into his hands.

“Well… disregarding that last part,” Shimada says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “He has a point. Trust me, we’re working day and night to round up this guy’s entire organization. This has given us a leg up, alright? Security here is already tight, just stay put. Don’t let him go out alone… keep an eye out… let us work this out, alright?”

Kenma scoots closer to Iwaizumi. “He’ll be alright,” he murmurs. “I’ll help protect him. We all will.”

Iwaizumi nods, running his fingers down his nose. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I know.”

-X-

“How is he?’ Tetsurou asks, once Iwaizumi has reemerged from their room.

“Honestly… he seemed fine just now,” Iwaizumi says, sitting beside the two of them. He sighs. “Listen, off topic, but…  have you two… ever considered moving in together?”

_ It’s come up _ , Kenma thinks, but it seems impossible to get that thought past his throat right now. It’s been a long day, Kenma has been out of his comfort zone for too long, and he’s starting to feel it.

Tetsurou shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not really practical right now, because we’d want to do it with Kou and Akaashi, and Akaashi’s holding up fine but he’s not ready to move out just yet. And I have so much stuff going on that’s on campus.”

“Why?” Kenma asks. He’s certain now that he’s nearing the end of his social chain, because at this point, sentences are taking him several full minutes to comprehend.

“It’s just… I don’t think Tooru wants to move in with me,” Hajime sighs. “You know, like… he never really liked having me around the Institute, but I think it’s more than that.”

“He’s scared of his own powers,” Kenma murmurs, patting his pockets for his DS. His fingers are going to vibrate off if he doesn’t put them to good use. There’s more to elaborate on, but his throat is going to close off if he keeps trying to talk.

Thankfully, Tetsurou is there to pick up the slack. “I think he’s decided that the Institute keeps him in check,” he says as Kenma turns on his game. “Kind of… contains the danger. If he lived with you, you’d be in the containment bubble. Which scares him.”

Iwaizumi groans. “He’s so high strung,” he grumbles. “And high maintenance, gods.” He sighs. “I just want to make him happy.”

“You do,” Kenma mutters. The game is not taking up enough of his brain to shut off the feeling that his skin isn’t fitting right. “I’m going to turn in. When Akaashi gets home, tell him Ukai hid his pudding cups behind the fridge this time.” He gives Tetsurou a peck on the cheek and clambers up the stairs.

He only hears the faintest sniffle in the dark, but he sighs and crawls straight into Tooru’s bed, wrapping his arms around Tooru’s waist. “It’s going to be ok, Tooru,” he whispers.

“I don’t know if I dreamed it or not but I think he’s outside and I’m scared to look.”

Terror crawls its way up Kenma’s spine, and he jumps to his knees, standing on the bed to look out the window. A tall figure stands right outside the gate. Kenma stays still, watching the figure, and eventually it turns and walks away. “He’s gone,” Kenma whispers. “He was just watching.”

Tooru doesn’t say anything. Kenma leans over him. He’s fast asleep.

Kenma sighs. He fishes out a small bell from his things and balances it on the window handle. It’ll wake him up if anyone tries to open the window, and no one will get through the door.

He sits beside Tooru on the bed for a few more minutes, then sighs, and thinks to himself,  _ You’re a pain in the ass, Tooru. _

“You’re a… f… pain…” Tooru mutters in his sleep.

So Tooru  _ is _ reading minds in his sleep, which makes it basically a sure thing that he’s a telepath, even more so than the projecting or some kind of empath ability that he displayed earlier. Kenma files that away for later. At the moment, it’s probably far past time for him to sleep.

_ You’re going to be alright, Tooru,  _  he thinks.  _ We’ll help you through this. _

He crawls into his own bed and pulls the covers over his head, and tries to fall asleep. Or, barring that, he tries to think about happy things.

He’s probably going to have to apologize to Tooru in the morning for the number of times he thinks of Tetsurou.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok yeah so now that's wrapped up I'm not gonna hurt Kuroo anymore. At least not directly. 
> 
> Next week: Iwaizumi gets a shit ton of data to sift through. He enjoys it immensely. Makki and Mattsun show up for 0.2 seconds.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime snorts and pulls him in for another koala hug. “You better live forever, asshole, or I’ll punch you.”
> 
> “Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, voice slightly flat with surprise, a small, honest laugh hidden at the back of his throat. “You’re an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a scene in here where Suga is anxiously watching the news wondering what's gonna happen to his kids.
> 
> I wrote it weeks ago. How bizarre.

“Iiiiwa-chan!” Hajime hears from somewhere behind him in the distance. He sighs and turns around, already annoyed.

“You’re actually going to class, asshole?” he asks.

Tooru skitters up beside him. “Yes! I took my medicine at four in the morning, so I’ve slept it off. I feel great!” he cries, latching onto Hajime’s arm, looking triumphant in that adorable way that Hajime lives for.

“You could be in danger, idiot,” Hajime mutters, but he accepts the sloppy kiss that Tooru plants on his cheek.

“Kenma walked me over and we’re meeting up on the way home too,” Tooru says. “Have you ever considered that nowadays Kenma, of all people, could beat you in an arm wrestling match?”

“Tooru,” Hajime sighs.

Tooru throws his head back into a groan, wriggling around like a fish on a hook as he swings his arms back and forth sulkily. “Come on, Iwa-chan, I’m tired of being all cooped up. No headache, I’m  _ awake _ … we’re covering  _ black holes _ in my astronomy class… Please just let me live my life.”

“Alright, but tell me your schedule. I’m walking you to class,” Hajime grumbles.

The look Tooru gives him is half amused and half condescending and Hajime wants to wipe it off his face at all costs. “Iwa-chan,” he drawls, snaking around Hajime. “I’m already on a crowded campus and I have superpowers. I think I can manage.”

“Just… let me ease my worry. For once in your life, just don’t be difficult about this,” Hajime growls, closing his eyes in an effort to keep from strangling his boyfriend.

Tooru is quiet for a moment, then pulls out his phone. “Alright. I’ll show you my schedule.”

“Thank you,” Hajime breathes.

-X-

After the third class, it does feel pretty silly to pick Tooru up and walk him across campus, then jog to his own class, but Tooru doesn’t protest again. As a matter of fact, Tooru seems absolutely unburdened, which Hajime finds suspicious. He keeps watching for the signs that Tooru’s hiding his worries, but even when he doesn’t know that Hajime is watching, he looks happy.

Right now, he’s chattering about event horizons and some kind of paradox. Ever since Tooru got into astrophysics, his space obsession has gotten utterly incomprehensible, full of big words and theories. Still, it’s not like Hajime ever listened to the details, he just likes the excitement on Tooru’s face when he gets into it.

“Anyway, don’t you think it’s fascinating?” Tooru asks, with a little skip in his step.

“Uh… yeah, sure,” Hajime says automatically.

Tooru rolls his eyes. “You weren’t listening,” he sighs.

“No, I was, I just… have no idea what you said.”

“Aliens, Iwa-chan.”

“I figured.”

Tooru grumbles something and turns his nose up. “You know, when the aliens come for me I’m going to tell them you never believed in them.”

“You do that.”

Tooru whines and throws himself over Hajime’s shoulders. “If I was abducted by aliens, would you miss me?”

“I’d be happy you’re finally where you belong,” Hajime mutters. “Good riddance.”

It’s quiet suddenly. Hajime twists to look at Tooru, who is nosing at his shoulder contemplatively, brown eyes soft and sad. “Are you being serious?” Hajime asks, trying not to laugh. “Tooru, of course I’d miss you.”

“I know, that’s not what I was thinking about. Just... if I die will you ever manage to be happy with anyone else?” Tooru whispers, shattering any kind of good mood that they had going.

“You’re not dying,” Hajime says, whirling around and taking Tooru’s hands in his own. Tooru’s long fingers curl around his own impulsively.

“I know, I know, everything will be fine,” Tooru says, as though he’s tired of hearing it. He fixes Hajime with a look that could burn away the sun itself. “I know. I believe you. But  _ if _ . Just  _ if _ . Will you find a way to be happy?”

Hajime doesn’t know what the right answer is here. “I don’t think so,” he whispers. “I don’t think I could love anyone else, and I think a world without you would be an awful place.”

Tooru’s fingers curl tighter around his own. “I’d want you to find someone else, you know. I’d want you to be happy.”

“Yeah, well… I’d want you to be alive, so… Sucks. Guess you’ll have to survive, huh?”

The wrings a wry smile out of Tooru. “I suppose I have no choice,” he murmurs, then chirps, “Oh, but also, if I survive but I’m brain dead just pull the plug, okay?”

Hajime gawks at him. “You’re an asshole,” he growls, letting go of his boyfriend and stomping away.

“Iwa-chan! I just need to know I  _ could _ die a dignified death!” Tooru calls after him, jogging to keep up. “I’m not saying I will!”

“Shut up!” Hajime yells back at him, but Tooru’s got the advantage of longer legs, and he catches up to Hajime with ease, wrapping his arms around him. Hajime stops short, breathing in the scent of Tooru all around him.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” Tooru murmurs into his neck. “It’s just to let my mind rest a little. I get scared, you know? And I don’t want to be scared because I want to make it easier for you to help me, which you will. So I know I’ll be alright. I’ll be the picture of positivity now, I swear.”

“You… you better,” Hajime mutters, but Tooru is so calm behind him right now that Hajime is the one who feels comforted by his presence.

“Iwa-chan, I think you’re more freaked out than I am. Aren’t you supposed to be my rock?”

Hajime turns around and buries his face in Tooru’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Nothing scares me more than losing you.”

Tooru wraps his arms around him, kissing his cheek. “I know, baby, I know.” He sighs, and Hajime sighs with him, breathing in the way that Tooru smells, like vanilla and a scent that’s just Tooru, no one else. “Sorry for getting morbid. I’m fine now.”

“It’s ok,” Hajime says. “I need to pull myself together.”

There’s a faint flash of Tooru’s thoughts in his head, of them when they were younger, Tooru screaming for help over Hajime’s body. Tooru’s finger only twitches a little along Hajime’s back, but Hajime brushes his own fingers along Tooru’s comfortingly. It’s been a while since Tooru projected. “If it was the other way around I’d be freaking out,” Tooru whispers.

“Nah. You’d pull yourself together too,” Hajime murmurs. “Which is why I gotta.” He pulls away and grabs Tooru’s hand. “Come on, let’s get lunch.”

“Yessir!” Tooru chirps, grinning as Hajime tugs him along.

-X-

In the end, Hajime feels pretty good about handing off Tooru to Kenma at the end of the day. Tooru is bounding and gesturing happily, and Kenma looks… well, the way that Kenma looks. Hajime goes home and gets some studying done.

It’s nearly midnight when he gets the email, and it takes him a while to work up the nerve to open it. It’s from Dr. Moira McTaggert, one of the researchers who has worked with multiple telepaths, including the elder Ukai. Iwaizumi has been pestering her for raw data, but now he’s not so sure he can stomach it.

He steels himself and opens the email. It’s in English, more friendly than formal, which surprises him.

_ Hello! _

_ Your emails were just forwarded to me by my staff. If I understand correctly, you have a friend in Ikkei Ukai’s. I’ve been talking with Ikkei, and he speaks very highly of your friend. We are, of course, constantly reviewing all our data as well, and would appreciate a new set of eyes, but I must warn you: it’s not very encouraging stuff. Please call me if you’re certain you want to get into it! _

_ Moira _

Her affiliations and telephone numbers are at the bottom of the email, like a stamp. Hajime sighs. It’s still early in Ireland, where Dr. McTaggert lives. He pulls up Skype and dials the number.

A curt, female voice picks up quickly. “Hello?”

“Ah… Dr. McTaggart,” Hajime says, flinching a little at how rusty his English is. “It’s Iwa… Hajime Iwaizumi.”

“Oh, Hajime. I didn’t expect you to call so soon.” She has a thick Irish accent, but she speaks very clearly.

“Umm… I…” He tries to think about the words he wants to use. “I’m sure that I want to see your data. My friend… boyfriend is definitely a telepath and I need to do everything I can to help him.”

“I understand. I was the same with Ikkei when he lost his legs…” There’s something wistful in her tone, and Hajime wonders what the history of that might be. “I’ll give you access to our database. but please check in with either myself or Ikkei if you get overwhelmed. It’s morbid stuff, especially when you’re not used to the demands of a medical career just yet.”

“I will,” Hajime promises.

She walks him through how to access the data. Some of it is only accessible from the research center itself, but there’s plenty to plow through before that. Tables, charts and notes loom in front of him.

There are a few video diaries, too.

Hajime is afraid of them… but also drawn to them.

He sits before his laptop with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his lap for nearly ten minutes before he manages to click one open.

Then he clicks another.

And another.

And another.

Hanamaki comes home around four in the morning, whispering something with Matsukawa. “Oh, hey, Iwaizumi. You’re awake,” he says, surprised.

Hajime barely manages to turn around to acknowledge him, but his face must look horrendous, because Hanamaki’s perpetual grin fades. “Have you slept at all?”

Hajime shakes his head, feeling numb. He’s watched patient after patient after patient die slowly and in pain and he can’t help but think about how Tooru cried when he scraped his knee when he was five and cried for hours, and whether or not Tooru will have the energy to cry like that when his brain is dripping out his nose in… what?

Months, probably, given the progression of the previous patients…

“Go to bed,” Hanamaki says, grabbing one of his arms. “Issei, come help.”

Matsukawa appears behind him, slouching over as he helps Hanamaki pull Hajime into bed and shove a blanket over him.

“You look like shit,” he says.

Hajime can’t bring himself to banter with him. Not now. Matsukawa sees it, and he sits beside Hajime on the bed. “You need anything?” he asks. “Should we call Oikawa?”

Hajime shakes his head. “I just wanna be alone for a while.”

“Alright,” Matsukawa says, and claps him on the back. Hanamaki does the same, and Hajime hears them rattle around for a few more minutes before they leave Hajime in the dark room again.

Hajime feels the first sob force its way up his throat, and the rest follow like a hailstorm, and Hajime cries until he falls asleep.

-X-

“Shut the fuck  _ up _ ,” he growls at the knocking on the door, growing louder at each moment. “It’s  _ open! _ ”

The door slides open and Tooru’s head pokes in, half cautious and half teasing. “Ah,” he says. “Iwa-chan is alive!”

Hajime buries his face back into the pillow and moans.

Tooru slips into the room, closing the door behind himself. “Iwa-chan wasn’t there when I got to class this morning and I was worried.”

Hajime groans. “Shit, I had class…” He pushes himself up a little. “What time is it?”

Tooru doesn’t answer, so Hajime looks over his shoulder. Tooru’s looking at his laptop, where Hajime still has one of the video diaries paused. Since it’s set to fullscreen, apparently the screensaver didn’t kick in, and Hanamaki clearly didn’t close it for him.

The worst part, though, is that Hajime had paused it because it was getting… well. Gruesome. It was one of the patients that had deteriorated slowly, very slowly, but it was clear that they were slowly losing the battle. Even that one screenshot of their hallowed face says enough.

“Tooru…” Hajime says slowly.

“Hmm?” Tooru says, tearing his eyes away slowly and giving a bright-eyed smile. “Oh. Sorry. It’s two in the afternoon.”

His long fingers flit over the laptop, closing it gingerly, looking at Hajime with that stupid smile that Hajime hates as he does. “It’s not good for Iwa-chan to stay up all night!” he chirps.

“Tooru,” Hajime tries again, more firmly.

“It’s alright,” Tooru says, then tries to continue with a softer tone. “I said I was fine yesterday. I’m fine today, too. I’ll probably get sick again, but we’ll figure it out by then, right, Iwa-chan?”

Hajime’s mouth opens and closes helplessly.

Tooru crawls into Hajime’s lap in response. “Hajime. I told you not to freak out. It’s only a matter of time before I freak out again and what are we going to do if we’re both freaking out? We’ll have to involve Kenma, probably, and he’ll be very annoyed.”

Hajime nearly quirks a smile at that, but mostly he just buries his face in Tooru’s chest and hugs him close. “Can I freak out a little?” he mutters.

Tooru laughs, wrapping his arms around Hajime. “My, my, Iwa-chan. Again? It’s almost as though you think I’m here to take care of you, even though it’s clearly the other way around. I’m high maintenance, you kn-“ He shrieks when Hajime pinches his side, using his surprise to pull him down on top of himself and flop onto the bed.

He squeezes even tighter, wrapping his legs around Tooru like he could be a koala. Koalas don’t have to lose the love of their life to their own stupid brain. Tooru’s laughter rattles all around him, and he presses a kiss to the top of Hajime’s head. Right now, Hajime is glad he’s taller.

“You’re so cute right now, Iwa-chan,” Tooru chuckles.

“I’ll fucking punch you,” Hajime grumbles.

“Will you,” Tooru snorts.

“Yeah.”

“I’m so scared.”

“You better be.”

“You’re very intimidating currently.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to go through all that data if it upsets you like this.”

Hajime pulls away, looking Tooru in the eyes. “Alright, now I’ll really punch you.”

Tooru shrugs. “I’m just saying. If things go south, the Professor will do what he can. He’s been through a lot of the data, and he’s friends with the people who recorded it. It’s not like you’re the only one who could help. I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to do this for me.” His face seems open, which gives Hajime some hope that this isn’t a bullshit  _ I’m not worth it _ speech.

“I need it,” Hajime says, willing to give Tooru the benefit of the doubt and not yell at him for not valuing himself. “I need to do what I can to help.”

Tooru huffs. “Alright. But if you don’t sleep I’m going to come here and sit up with you and then neither of us will sleep.”

Hajime groans. “You of all people are bossing me around about overworking myself. This is humiliating.”

“Oh, don’t worry, your face is already humiliating enough,” Tooru grins. Hajime smacks the back of his head.

“You’ve always been better at taking care of other people more than yourself, though,” Hajime murmurs, pulling Tooru down for an Eskimo kiss.

Tooru blushes. “Nu-uh. I’m a selfish brat.”

“Yeah, you’re that too,” Hajime laughs, and Tooru kicks at him weakly.

“Not fair, Iwa-chan,” he mumbles, clearly embarrassed.

Hajime snorts and pulls him in for another koala hug. “You better live forever, asshole, or I’ll punch you.”

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, voice slightly flat with surprise, a small, honest laugh hidden at the back of his throat. “You’re an idiot.”

-X-

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Surprisingly, Tooru hasn’t had any breakdowns. He’s been keeping up with his classes, and he’s just as much of a pain in the ass as usual. It might be bit of a forced sort of cheerfulness, but it’s not so much for show as for Tooru himself, which is an improvement as far as Tooru is concerned. Hajime is settling back into a kind rhythm, with classes and reviewing Dr. McTaggert’s data and kissing Tooru senseless whenever he can get his hands on him.

The next week is almost relaxed.

The third week, Hajime’s phone rings at midnight on Monday, as he was just preparing to finally get some sleep. It’s Tooru, of course.

“Hey, babe,” he mutters, laying back.

_ “I think I’ve picked up mind control,” _ Tooru says, sounding panicked.

“Uh,” Hajime says, and he can instantly think of a thousand ways that could have gone badly, given Tooru’s… entire personality. “What… why do you think that,” he says slowly.

“I was teasing Akaashi, right,” Tooru says, voice laden with guilt, and Hajime’s stomach flips. “And I asked him to give me some of his dinner, and he just did. A whole rice ball. Just like that. It took him like… five minutes before he realized he did it.”

Hajime sits there, confused, for a long time. “Did you eat it?” he asks finally.

“Of course not, I’m not that big of an ass,” Tooru snaps.

“So… what’s the problem here?” Hajime says. To be honest, he’d been terrified that Tooru had been petty and snapped at Kageyama to step in front of a bus or something, unaware of the consequences, but apparently it’s just about a rice ball that he didn’t steal.

“The… the problem is that every telepath that had abilities since childhood had different abilities, and what do I start out with?” Tooru’s voice isn’t the usual whine, so apparently he’s not just disappointed, he’s actually upset. Hajime doesn’t get his boyfriend at all sometimes. “The ability to attack and to control.”

“So…?”  Hajime prompts, when there’s quiet for a bit too long.

“So, what does that say about me?”

Hajime sits there for a while. He still doesn’t get it. “What are you talking about?” he groans out finally.

“I mean… I know what I’m like. I’m demanding and controlling and aggressive and… and now I’ve got powers like a Saturday morning cartoon villain and…” He sniffles, loudly, and Hajime realizes he must be crying.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Are you crying?”

“No,” Tooru says, far too quickly. “Yes. I’m in the bathroom bawling my eyes out. Akaashi’s sitting outside and he keeps asking if I’m alright.”

“So he’s not traumatized, then,” Hajime says, smiling to himself.

“That’s not the point,” Tooru whispers. “I’m just… I don’t want this. I know I’m demanding and I’m whiny and I always want my way, but I don’t want to control people against their will.”

“Yeah, you’re more of a manipulator,” Hajime teases.

“Hajime,” Tooru warns, and Hajime can hear him sniffling.

“Ok, you know what, I agree. Your powers are a perfect representation of who you are,” Hajime sighs.

Tooru doesn’t say a word, but Hajime hears his breath hitch.

“Let’s not forget, though, that you’re a telepath. You’ve already displayed the powers of an empath and soon enough you’ll probably be able to read minds and move things with your mind. So, you know, that’s more like someone demanding and controlling on the surface, but someone who will break themselves to understand people and who can move mountains. Which, honestly, is starting to sound more like you.”

There’s a muffled sob on the other end of the line.

“Also, Tooru, you just found out you could control someone’s mind, you don’t even know to what extent, and you’re already bawling in the bathroom like a baby. If you’re a cartoon villain, you’re the worst one that’s ever lived.”

That wrenches a wet laugh out of Tooru. “That’s fair,” he whispers. “Why do you make it so hard for me to hate myself?”

“Because it’s the worst thing about you and you’re more pleasant when you stop,” Hajime replies without a second thought. This has always been true of Tooru.

Tooru’s quiet for a moment. “I meant it,” he whispers. “Earlier, when I said I was fine, I wasn’t just trying to push you away. I’m sorry I crashed again.”

Hajime laughs at that. “It’s alright. Can I come over?”

Silence crackles over the line for a while. “Yeah, ok,” Tooru sighs.

“You sure?” Hajime asks. He doesn’t want to push Tooru too fast or too hard.

“Yeah,” Tooru repeats, but he sounds resigned. “I… look, I’m trying.”

“I know,” Hajime tells him softly. “Thanks.”

“It feels like shit that I’m more scared for myself than you right now, alright?” Tooru snaps. “But I am, so come over.”

Hajime’s quiet for a moment. He feels like there must be something that he could say to make this better, but he’s never been great with words. He sighs. “Yeah. Okay,” he says. “I’ll be there soon, alright?”

-X-

When he gets there, Tooru is sitting on the top of the stairs with Akaashi. Tooru’s still sniffling, but Akaashi seems fine, his arm over Tooru’s shoulder as Tooru curls in on himself.

“I guess you’re not scarred for life by this experience, then,” he says, smiling at Akaashi.

Akaashi fixes him with a flat look. “No, I am. Of all the things I’ve been through, nothing has been quite so horrible as my friend accidentally stealing a rice ball from me for a few seconds.”

Hajime snorts.

“Shut up,” Tooru says weakly, his forehead pressed against his palms. “It’s not like you weren’t worried about being able to control people.”

“I was,” Akaashi says, rubbing his arm a little. “Until you convinced me otherwise.”

He shoots a very pointed look at Hajime, who clambers up the stairs to join him, squatting down on the steps to Tooru’s other side. He brushes Tooru’s bangs aside, but Tooru doesn’t look up.

“How are you?”

“Fine,” Tooru mumbles. His shoulders are taut and his foot is wobbling a little as he bounces it.

“Yeah, try again,” Hajime says. “Headache?”

Tooru is quiet. “It’s probably from crying,” he mumbles.

Though Hajime has his doubts, he’s certain that the best course of action is to calm Tooru back down. “Yeah, you’re dripping snot everywhere, idiot,” he says, gathering Tooru into his arms. Tooru is so tall, but he still folds into Hajime’s arms snugly, like he belongs there. “I can’t believe you freaked out over this.”

“Don’t mock me,” Tooru warbles, tucking his head into Hajime’s shoulder as Hajime picks him up. “I invited you over for supportive cuddles and I demand what I asked for.”

“Gods, you’re such a brat,” Hajime murmurs, but he nestles his nose into Tooru’s hair to give him a quick kiss.

Akaashi smirks up at him. Hajime mouths a quick thank you to him.

“Akaashi’s going into literature,” Tooru whispers. “He should do psychology. His powers are perfect for it. He got me out of a panic attack in seconds.”

“Did you have another one while I was coming over here?”

“Yeah.”

Hajime waits for Tooru to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He seems to have relaxed entirely into Hajime’s arms with some kind of desperate relief, but there’s still a nervous edge to his silence. Hajime carries him to his room and slides him into bed. He still feels like something’s gone unsaid, but he’s even less sure of what it is than he was before.

He leans over Tooru, taking him in. He’s not surprised he doesn’t know what to say. He could talk a billion years and never manage to say just how wonderful, beautiful Tooru is. It strangles him, sometimes, the knowledge that there will never be words deep enough for how he feels.

Tooru closes his eyes. “Stop,” he croaks, like Hajime’s hurting him.

“Stop what?” Hajime says. He checks to make sure he’s not kneeling on Tooru.

“Stop feeling so much,” Tooru says.

Hajime blinks down at him. He feels a blush crawling up his neck. “You can hear that, huh,” he whispers.

“I can feel it,” Tooru corrects, unable to meet Hajime’s eyes. “I can’t really pick up on any thoughts, but… I feel it.”

“Good,” Hajime whispers, kissing the curve of Tooru’s cheek. “I want you to know.”

“I don’t deserve…”

“Don’t.”

Tooru’s jaw claps shut obediently, and he looks as close to meek as he gets as he melts into the covers, frozen like a deer in the headlights as Hajime kisses along the shell of his ear. He hears a small sniffle, but it’s not the ugly sobbing that Tooru gets when he’s worked up, teeth clenched and ready to fight, but something more fragile and resigned.

Hajime sighs and pulls him close, settling on top of Tooru and wrapping his arms around him. He closes his eyes and starts conjuring up the sweetest memories he has of Tooru. He’s not sure the clenching adoration he feels is getting across, but the small hiccups in the back of Tooru’s throat make him suspect it is.

“You do deserve this,” Hajime murmurs. He lets Tooru go. “But you also need to drink something.” He pushes himself up. “You want anything in particular?”

“Juice,” Tooru murmurs.

“Do you need painkillers?”

Tooru shakes his head. “It’s just a twinge, really. It’ll go away if I sleep.”

Hajime nods watches his face for any signs that he’s lying or in pain, but other than the occasional sniffle, Tooru seems to be fine. “Alright.”

He pads into the kitchen, finding it empty except for Sugawara, who is currently staring at a mug of coffee like it’s the epitome of tragedy. Hajime raises an eyebrow at him. “You alright?”

Suga glances up, seeming confused to see him. Which, given how much Tooru generally lets him stay around the Institute before he panics, is probably a valid reaction. “Oh, ah,” Suga says, slowly. “No, it’s just…” He gestures to his phone a little. “The news.”

“Is someone trying to pass another mutant registration bill?” Hajime sighs. The last one had been shot down when they were five, and Hajime has only read about it in retrospect, but it hadn’t exactly been a very friendly law. 

“Not yet,” Suga murmurs. “But there was an incident. A mutant blew a big chunk out of a street in Tokyo. It’s… well.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll have to talk to the kids… you know, we try not to mention anything about being mutants, but… a lot of people know, and if people get it into their heads that we’re a danger…”

Hajime frowns. “Yeah,” he mutters, leaving himself a mental note to keep an eye on this news when he gets home. “Uh… sorry. I hope the kids will be ok.”

Suga nods, his usual energy kind of lackluster.

Hajime hesitates, wondering if he should say something else to cheer him up.

“Oh,” Suga says, blinking at him and smiling. “Don’t worry about me. I know you’re here to take care of Oikawa.”

“Yeah, but…” Hajime murmurs.

“No, I’m serious. I can sense his unique cocktail of panic and self-hatred from here and it’s very…” He sighs, making an attempt to say it nicely and then giving up halfway through. “… well, annoying.”

“Was he… you know, was he really alright the past three weeks?” Hajime asks.

“As far as I could tell,” Suga says. “Certainly he was trying very hard to be alright. I think he feels like it’s all he can offer you in exchange for your efforts to save him.” He looks at Hajime contemplatively. “You should trust him. I think he’s trying very hard to be honest, too. At least with you.”

Hajime laughs, but it’s bitter in his mouth. “Yeah, I… it’s not his strong suit. Being honest about when he feels bad, you know?” Suga nods sympathetically. “But thanks, I’m glad he’s trying.” He raises the glass of grape juice awkwardly. “I gotta… anyway. Hope everything will be alright.”

When he gets back upstairs, Tooru is drifting off, unaware of him for a second, eyelids blinking slower with each moment. He startles a bit when Hajime sits beside him. “Juice,” Hajime murmurs, sliding the cup into Tooru’s hand.

Tooru struggles to sit up and keep the cup steady. Hajime reaches forward to steady it for him. “It’s a lot,” he murmurs, staring into the cup.

“What’s a lot?” Hajime asks, smoothing Tooru’s messy hair.

“Feelings. The intensity goes in and out,” Tooru murmurs. “But every so often I can feel everyone in the house and… I don’t know how Suga does it.” He blinks up at Hajime. “Please don’t be nervous. It feels awful.”

Hajime sucks in a breath. Tooru’s eyes seem to look right through him, into him. He lets the air out shakily. “Yeah, ok,” he whispers, trying to steady himself. “Drink up.”

Tooru hums and starts sipping at the juice contemplatively. Hajime tries to trace the lines of his nose as he thinks. “Hey, Tooru,” he murmurs. “Tell me a story. About space, or whatever.”

Though he looks surprised, Tooru smiles and thinks. “Well, I did rewatch some X-files episodes and you won’t believe…” he starts, and Hajime pretty much blanks out on the rest of the story, but he doesn’t miss the way that Tooru lights up when he talks. He likes being given something to do, something to focus on.

He always has.

Hajime listens to him talk, though he doesn’t retain a single word, and lets Tooru rest his head on his shoulder as he struggles to chatter straight through falling asleep. Tooru never does anything casually. He feels warm next to Tooru like this, and he likes the way Tooru hums and curls around him when it’s the most intense.

By the time Kenma and Akaashi start preparing for bed, Tooru’s rambling is little more than sleepy little mumbles into Hajime’s chest. They share fond smiles, and Tooru manages a soft snore, going quiet before starting back up with a sleepy, “Anyway, that’s why Mulder needs Scully so much,” and then falling silent entirely.

Hajime strokes his hair slowly and settles in beside him comfortably.

“You don’t mind if I stay the night, right?” he whispers to the others.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time one of us had a boyfriend over,” Akaashi says softly, eying Tooru with the ghost of a smile. “I think we’ll live.”

Hajime smiles back at him. “Thanks.”

Akaashi shrugs, but he gives Tooru an even softer look as he curls his hand into Hajime’s shirt. “Everyone loves me,” Tooru mumbles.

“Oh, boy,” Kenma sighs. “Of all people, why did he have to start reading minds.” He turns his nose up a little, wrinkling it. “I don’t want him to know how much I like him.”

“Please. We all knew already,” Akaashi says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway... uh... I'm not exactly in a great state of mind right now.
> 
> Next week the shit hits the fan. Ha. Haha. Anyway. Tooru finally starts reading minds, Ushijima is lurking around... *scary music*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru doesn’t want to tell him that he may have catalyzed Tooru’s inevitable death. He feels exposed, Akaashi’s and Suga’s thoughts invading his mind like worms sliding under his skin and he doesn’t want to risk breaking down in front of them. He wants Hajime to come back and tell him it’s ok and surround him with his inexplicable love for Tooru like a blanket fresh out of the drier.
> 
> He smiles brightly and laughs it off. “Just not used to sensing emotions,” Tooru says. Thoughts, his brain reminds him. Those are the ones that are going to kill you. You feel it already, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this early because I've been sick and quite frankly I just wanted to get it out there. I'll still be updating on Wednesday mornings from here on, though!
> 
> This chapter comes with a few content warnings, and speaking of content warnings, there will be a few in further chapters. I'll try to make common triggers/rough content skippable, but also I want to say feel free to point out if I miss anything or write to me if you need a warning for anything specific, even if it seems "silly". The only thing I'd ask is that if you send me an ask on Tumblr about it, anon or not, please let me know if you need me to not respond/respond privately because I'm never sure whether to publish asks or not.
> 
> Also, I've reordered the tags a little after my latest batch of plotting.
> 
> Anyway, now that I've gone on about triggers, this chapter has a very vivid description of a PSTD related panic attack set off by a trigger. It is from "There’s a pan over the rubble of the warehouse that exploded, then back to the reporter, interviewing someone…" to "“Huh,” Suga murmurs, frowning." There are also mentions of child abuse/neglect/general bad parenting choices throughout, but very minor.

Tooru wakes up screaming, though he can’t remember why.

Strong arms wrap around him, and at first he struggles against them. There’s a crashing noise, and everything is really quiet. Tooru’s head is spinning, he feels like he ran a marathon, and in the end it’s just the smell that filters into his head, telling him where he is.

Hajime smells like a rose garden, with something earthy and something sweet all rolled into one.

Tooru wraps his arms around him and sucks in long breaths, trying to get used to the shape of his arms around Tooru. He’s not sure why he feels like he’s just returned to them or why it frightens him to think he’d be gone from them.

When he finally manages to open his eyes, it’s still dark, though Akaashi has turned on his lamp, letting soft light filter through the room. He’s sitting with his hands casually draped over his knees, but he looks pale, teeth clenched. Tooru looks for Kenma, but it takes him a while to find him, because he’s standing on Tooru’s nightstand, leaning on the windowsill and watching something outside.

“What’s happening?” Tooru croaks.

“You started screaming about someone being outside,” Akaashi murmurs.

“Also, you made a mess of the room when we tried to wake you up,” Kenma adds, looking very cross.

Tooru looks around blearily. Everything looks like it shifted a few centimeters further from him. The books that were beside him on the desk are now further inside, the papers that were on the other end are now scattered on the floor. “Wait, with my mind?” Tooru mutters, as Hajime tilts his head back and presses something to his face. Tooru’s too sluggish to pull away or contemplate why he does it.

Now that his heart isn't pounding, he realizes everyone around him is emitting various degrees of fear. It’s hard to distinguish the feelings, but he’s fairly sure Akaashi’s on the verge of a panic attack that’s he’s valiantly fighting down, Hajime is concerned and Kenma is caught between nervous and homicidal rage.

“Did you see him?” Tooru guesses.

“He took off once he saw me. Again,” Kenma says, his voice nearly inaudible, catching on something vicious in the back of his throat, a snarl or a growl or just an immense hatred. “But it was the guy who took Kuro, and this time he got inside the gate.”

“This time?” Akaashi croaks.

“Tooru sensed him before, but he was outside the fence that time,” Kenma murmurs.

“Stay still, Tooru,” Hajime murmurs. Tooru hadn’t realized he was still trying to pull away from whatever Hajime was doing.

“Why,” he croaks, sniffling.

“Nosebleed,” Hajime replies, terse. He’s trying to calm himself down, to think positive. Tooru can tell, not just through his powers, but through the pinch of Hajime’s eyebrows.

He lets himself go slack, allowing Hajime to move him as he sees fit, direct his head easily. It seems to comfort Hajime, though Tooru can’t tell if it’s because he’s glad Tooru’s relaxed or if he enjoys the idea of Tooru submitting himself to Hajime’s patient care.

Either way, it makes Hajime calmer in the flurry of feelings in the room, and it feels nice to be taken care of, so he loosens his shoulders as well. Hajime moves into the space his tension leaves behind, surging forward to pet his hair.

“If I’m up already I should take my medication,” Tooru mumbles.

“I’ll get you water,” Akaashi says quickly, though Tooru is sure he just wants a moment alone to breathe.

Kenma sits back beside them. He and Hajime exchange looks, like they’re bonding over a primal desire to protect their loved ones. Tooru snorts, then moans. His head doesn’t hurt, per se, just feels… off. Something’s off, like an echo or something. Maybe it’s the emotions he’s picking up on, and the way it just… shows up as knowledge instead of being something like a sensory input.

“I don’t feel good,” he murmurs.

Hajime tamps down his rising nerves with startling speed, but Kenma doesn’t, and the anxiety thrums through Tooru’s head like a badly tuned violin string. “You should stay home today,” Hajime murmurs, and Tooru nods. Even the three of them in this room is too much, he can’t imagine a whole classroom full of people feeling… all kinds of things, probably.

Akaashi is calmer when he comes back, fishing out the pills to give him with the water. “You think he’ll come back?” he asks Kenma, as Tooru takes the pills from his hand.

“Maybe,” Kenma says. He looks eerie in this light, hunched over as usual, but steady in an entirely different way. He’s still angry. Angry, probably, that Ushijima hurt Kuroo or that he might hurt Akaashi or Tooru. In a strange way, that anger tastes or sounds or feels like Kenma, burning low and quiet, but stubborn and sharp.

“I think he’s just curious,” Tooru croaks. His eyes are closed, though he didn’t remember closing them. He hates medication that makes him drowsy. He feels heavy and he can’t open his eyes. “I think he doubts I’ll live.” He snorts out a chuckle. “I’ll show him, the asshole.”

That’s the last he remembers before startling awake in the sunshine of early afternoon. He groans, rubbing his eyes. Akaashi is back on his bed, eating yet another of Ukai’s pudding cups as he watches something on his laptop.

“You’re finally awake,” he says, smiling.

Tooru’s stomach grumbles. “What time is it?”

“Noon,” Akaashi volunteers. “We tried to wake you up for your class just in case, but it didn’t go so well.” He smirks. “You may have threatened us with murder, though you couldn’t exactly put together a full sentence.”

Tooru sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He watches Akaashi carefully. His emotions are steady, only a flutter of concern here and there as his eyes track Tooru’s stiff motions. “I’m starving,” Tooru mutters. “Come on, I’ll make you a sandwich too.”

That gets Akaashi out of his bed with surprising speed. Tooru laughs.

Downstairs the news is going again. Sugawara is watching as he does his homework, but he doesn’t seem nervous, just resigned. Tooru can handle these emotions. It still feels… wrong, somehow, to sense something in a way that isn’t tied to physical sensations, but it doesn’t feel as cloying as last night.

“So you’re really not upset about yesterday?” Tooru asks as he makes the sandwich.

“In time I’m sure I’ll learn to forgive you,” Akaashi says dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Tooru scoffs. “How is it that everyone around you pours nothing but love into you, and yet all it does is make you more of a sardonic dick?” He pauses, making sure that Akaashi doesn’t let off any discomfort. There’s a small twinge of shame, but much more it’s just amusement. He smiles a little to let Akaashi know it’s alright.

“I get it from my mother,” Akaashi says, lips twitching just a tiny bit, almost smiling softly. The thought of his mother fills him with warmth. “She has a very dry sense of humor, and I like that. I’m comfortable with it.”

“Well, in time I’ll learn to forgive you, I suppose,” Tooru says, sighing dramatically.

Akaashi rolls his eyes. “I’m so glad. I was truly concerned about you, Oikawa Tooru, not accepting me being a little shit.”

“Ouch, Aka-chan,” Tooru laughs. “Words hurt, you know.” He sighs. “Anyway, I’m still sorry about last night.”

“For the record, Oikawa-san, you were one of the first, if not the first to tell me that just because my powers could be construed as manipulative, I wasn’t a lesser person for it,” Akaashi says firmly. He tilts his head. “Unless you’d like to take that back, I believe you have no choice but to be kinder to yourself, despite the fact that you could control minds,  _ if _ you wanted to.”

Tooru blinks at him. He nearly drops the piece of bread in his hand. He’s never seen a more artfully constructed trap. He laughs, still speechless. “That was…  You…” he splutters.

Akaashi smiles, and it looks a little shy, but behind it Akaashi is painfully smug.

Tooru grins. “You little brat,” he growls. “You…”

There’s a sudden flutter of uncertainty, maybe fear, but Akaashi’s not looking at him anymore, but the TV, just visible from the kitchen, brows furrowed.

“Everything alright?” Tooru asks.

Akaashi nods slowly. “I just thought…” he murmurs, slipping off his seat and padding over to the door to look at the screen. Tooru sets down the sandwich and follows him.

There’s a pan over the rubble of the warehouse that exploded, then back to the reporter, interviewing someone…

… the panic hits Tooru like a truck. For a moment, he thinks it’s Akaashi pheromones, but he’s been practicing not letting them off when he’s frightened, and Tooru… Tooru doesn’t feel panicked, just like someone’s put a siren on full blast in the pit of his mind. Akaashi is ramrod straight, eyes wide, and Tooru can hear… see…  _ sense? _ …the rising flurry of memories, too sharp and too vivid rising in Akaashi’s mind.

On the screen, the man with the horn-rimmed glasses speaks calmly, almost friendly. In Akaashi’s mind he presses his hand over his nose and mouth and whispers  _ Be a good boy and maybe it won’t hurt as much today. _

“Turn it off,” Akaashi croaks, fighting for breath. “Turn it off!”

Suga, attuned to Akaashi’s feelings, has already reached for the remote and the TV clicks off. Suga is like an echo. Tooru can hear ( _ feel? _ ) Akaashi’s panic and see ( _ taste? _ ) Suga sensing it and it’s too  _ loud _ and Tooru would cover his eyes… or his ears or… if he could just figure out what it felt like… how to turn it off…

“Just breathe, alright? You know how,” Suga says softly.

Akaashi is sitting, head hanging between his knees. He’s aware that he’s panicking, that he’s safe, but that doesn’t slow his breath.  _ Breathe in. Hold. Out. Breathe in. Hold. Out,  _ he thinks, and Tooru tries to follow. His head hurts.

Suga puts his hand on Akaashi’s back. _He’s calming down quickly,_ he thinks _._ _That’s good._

_ He can’t hurt you _ , Akaashi thinks.  _ It’s alright here. Think of Koutarou. _ He feels warm, soft when he thinks of Koutarou, like Koutarou is a nightlight on a moonless night.

Suga smiles. He suspects what Akaashi’s thinking of, and he’s relieved, but mostly proud of Akaashi for struggling through his breathing exercises. Tooru wants to join in on the feeling, but he feels as though Akaashi’s panic attack has driven a nail into his skull and now it lingers there.

“That was my doctor,” Akaashi gasps wryly, when he’s caught his breath. Tooru doesn’t want to see the memories make the word go sour in Akaashi’s mouth, but he does.

“Huh,” Suga murmurs, frowning. _Why were they interviewing him?_ _Perhaps this mutant was another experiment?_

Tooru squeezes his eyes shut, but it doesn’t help filter the noise out. It’s quieter now, now that Akaashi is leaning back against the wall, eyes closed and breathing steadily, focusing on a mantra of  _ safe _ , but it’s still  _ wrong _ somehow and now that he knows what too much is even the smallest of thoughts trickling into his mind sends shivers up his spine.

“Are you alright, Tooru?” Suga says. “You seem upset.”

There’s a faint sliver of guilt as Akaashi’s eyes flutter open to look at him. He looks awful, in their eyes, pale and tired and quivering. He feels awful. His head pinches. He senses Akaashi snuff the guilt out.  _ It’s not your fault _ , he reminds himself, his thoughts even and measured like his actions. Still, the way he thinks it rings with the number of times he’s had to tell himself that.

Tooru doesn’t want to tell him that he may have catalyzed Tooru’s inevitable death. He feels exposed, Akaashi’s and Suga’s thoughts invading his mind like worms sliding under his skin and he doesn’t want to risk breaking down in front of them. He wants Hajime to come back and tell him it’s ok and surround him with his inexplicable love for Tooru like a blanket fresh out of the drier.

He smiles brightly and laughs it off. “Just not used to sensing emotions,” Tooru says.  _ Thoughts _ , his brain reminds him.  _ Those are the ones that are going to kill you. You feel it already, right? _

This time, at least, it’s his own panic that slices through his brain and his body like butter.

-X-

This is something he needs to tell Hajime in person, so Tooru curls up in his bed, pulls the covers over his head, and waits.  _ Three hours until Hajime finishes with class. _

The kids start coming home from school by hour one. Tooru downs a painkiller and it helps for 23 minutes. Tooru knows because by now he’s incapable of doing anything but watching the minute hand drool along the face of the clock by his bed. Was time always this slow?

Kageyama managed to ask Hinata out on a date. That’s nice. Kageyama’s much more bearable in his thoughts than with his stupid face. Kogenagawa failed a test. He’s right, Suga is going to yell at him. Nishinoya spent the day with Tanaka. Tanaka has a hot chef friend who looks like a biker and acts like a small puppy and Nishinoya seems to have instantly dedicated his life to protecting him.

Tooru stumbles out of his room and into the backyard, making sure to take the back exit so he doesn’t run into anyone. It doesn’t help, but he squeezes his eyes shut and covers his ears as he collapses under the fountain. Were there always this  _ many  _ people living in their house?

It’s better outside, for a while, but it seems that now his brain has realized it can pick up on thoughts, it can’t stop. Typical. Typical, typical, stupid Tooru. He can’t catch his breath with his head roaring like this.

He can sense Akaashi on the other side of the house, realizing he’s not in their room. He’s calling Hajime.

That’s good. At this rate, if Hajime goes to his last class before coming home, Tooru will be hearing the whole city by then. He whimpers at the thought. There are… what? Twenty? Thirty people in the house right now? Compared to a whole city it’s nothing, but it’s more than too much to handle.

His head feels like it’s going to explode. It’s too much.

The woman walking her dog one street down is going over her shopping list. The man in the house nearest to their property wonders if his wife is having an affair.

_ Get out. Get out of my head, please, get out _ , Tooru pleads with them. He can’t breathe.

“Please try to calm down, Oikawa-san,”  Akaashi calls. Out loud? Tooru pries his eyes open, head lolling against the fountain. Akaashi is standing very far away, balanced on his toes like he’s pushing against the wind. There doesn’t seem to be as much wind where Tooru is, for some reason. Akaashi has his concern in a chokehold, pressing it down and covering it with a still peace that would be soothing to Tooru if it wasn’t drowned out by at least a hundred other minds. “It will probably help you regain control.”

“It’s so much,” he whimpers. He’s not sure if it’s an explanation or a plea. Every breath feels like drawing magma into his lungs, and his head is going to crack open if it doesn’t  _ stop, stop, just stop, please _ .

“I can imagine,” Akaashi says. “Let me closer, please.”

Tooru can’t remember stopping him.

“Tooru,” Akaashi continues, pressing a little firmer with his soft voice. “Stop pushing.”

_ Pushing what? _

He looks up at the sky and his stomach lurches when he realizes that the fountain isn’t there anymore. Or rather, it’s in pieces, whirling around him like a tornado. He hadn’t noticed it, but in a desperate attempt to push away all the thoughts coming into his head he must have started tearing everything around him away. 

Now that he’s noticed, he can feel his mind latching onto the things he’s moving, but he can’t figure out how to stop it. It’s just another awful sound in the deafening chorus around him. He wraps his hands around his face again in a desperate attempt to block everything out. He can feel the ground shift under him and then distance itself from him entirely.

His body is floating, free of everything, but as he curls up in the air, his mind only grows more swamped, like he’s being dragged back into quicksand by thousands… tens of thousands of voices calling out through the whirlwind around him. 

There’s fingers on his face and some of the excess energy is suddenly wrenched from him. He startles, opening his eyes just in time to see Kenma lose his balance and slide back into the storm that Tooru’s created, spinning around him like his mind is doing inside as well.

The wind dies down, just a little, and a hand grabs onto his ankle and tugs him down, holding him close, one rough hand at the back of his head, another arm around his middle, keeping him close. He breathes in Hajime’s scent, though in the chaos he can’t look up far enough to see his face. “Calm down,” Hajime says. “Just focus on me, and you’ll be fine.”

Tooru tries to pick his thoughts out of the crowded roaring.  _ I love you, I love you, I love you _ . He closes his eyes and focuses on it, focuses on breathing. Slowly, everything else dies down, and it’s just Hajime, Hajime wrapped around him and thinking  _ I love you _ over and over like it’s a prayer or a mantra or a reason to live.

Tooru’s head throbs with blinding pain and he’s not sure he’s understood exhaustion until this moment. He looks around blearily. Debris is strewed all around the yard. Kenma is a few meters away, on his back. Lev is upside down against a wall a bit further than that, groaning too loud to be very hurt. He must have been the one who got Hajime here. Akaashi and Suga are standing outside the blast radius. 

“Kenma,” he croaks. “Kenma, are you alright?”

Kenma flips him off, and that’s about as far as Tooru makes it before passing out.

-X-

When he opens his eyes next, he can only sense Hajime’s thoughts as he spins through tomes of data, trying to figure something out. The image of Tooru writhing in his arms in agony is burned into his brain. He’s frantic, spiralling, and Tooru can’t breathe past it. “Stop,” he croaks.

The frantic contemplation halts, and Hajime looks up from where he’s been sitting with his head in his hands and smiles at him, dragging in a deep breath and leaning forward. “Welcome back. How’s the pain?”

“Not great,” Tooru replies. He was so getting used to being pain-free, too. “How’s Kenma?”

“He and Kuroo are taking a walk around the grounds until your powers wear off. He wasn’t taking the whole hearing thoughts thing very well either, but fortunately he didn’t manage to touch you for very long.”

“Hearing isn’t exactly the right word,” Tooru murmurs. It might be easier, he thinks, if it was. He reaches out, hands brushing along Hajime’s shirt. Everything seems bizarre, like he’s forgotten how his old senses work because of the new one. “But I only feel you now.”

“You did this back when your blasts started up too,” Hajime says softly, his hands gentle along Tooru’s neck. “If you stay calm you’ll probably be alright. For a while.”  _ He’s gonna lose his shit, _ he thinks, and he’s gauging Tooru’s reaction as he measures his next words.

Tooru narrows his eyes. “Why am I going to lose my shit?” he growls.

Hajime’s hands still. He sighs slowly. He didn’t want to bring this up like this. “That’s… that’s going to take some getting used to,” he mutters. “I just… this thing sped up, Tooru, and I don’t have a solution. We need more time. And… the isolation room would buy us time. If we’re following previous studies…”  _ Not you’ve been following them _ , Hajime tries not to think, “... then it might double the amount of time you have left.”  _ Which is not long, _ he tries very, very hard not to think.

The silence is thick between them. “No,” Tooru says, his tongue buzzing with an odd numbness.

“Tooru, I know you hate it, but it could save your life,” Hajime says, and he’s desperate, but Tooru shakes his head again.

“No. I’m not going back in there,” he says. His stomach is flipping with the thought of it.

“It wouldn’t be like last time. We could talk over the intercom, or…”

“No.”

Hajime grits his teeth, wondering why Tooru can’t be reasonable for once.

He’s only wondering because he’d had the luxury of being in a coma, but Tooru remembers that week vividly. He remembers being on his hands and knees over Hajime, shaking him and begging him to wake up. His parents had been the ones to call the ambulance. Hajime’s parents were still at work, so Tooru’s mother had sat with Hajime and Tooru on the way to the hospital.

“I did this,” Tooru had cried. “I did it!”

“Don’t be silly,” his mother had said, holding his hand for the last time. “The doctors will figure out what’s wrong with Hajime-kun soon, you’ll see. You did well, getting me. He’ll be alright.” She had smiled at him, and it was the last time she’d done that too.

“No,” he’d said. “No, I did it, I did it, I didn’t mean to!”

She hadn’t listened, so he screamed harder. He had only wanted her to believe him. That was all, but he had forgotten how to breathe somewhere along the way, and when people started dropping, he’d only grown more frightened. He’d lost control of something he didn’t even understand and he’d had no way to stop.

The tranquilizer dart hadn’t hurt. It hit him in the arm as he curled up in the hospital waiting room, covering his head to block out the sounds of the people around him, in pain, because of him. He hadn’t meant to hurt them. He hadn’t known how to stop, that was all. He’d tried.

He’d woken in that dreadful room, and something in him had felt the silence. It had been long, long before he’d learned to feel his powers, the range of them, the very, very faint sense of the minds they worked on, but gods, he’d felt the absence of those minds even then.

“You’ve got to calm down, Tooru-kun,” they had told him, over the intercom. “We won’t be able to let you out until you calm down.”

The Professor had come to see him, but the mental walls he’d put up to be able to do it made him feel empty and frightening. Thinking back, he hadn’t been unkind telling Tooru to control himself, but with that emptiness and in his panic, Tooru had always felt he’d been horribly cruel that week.Tooru had forced himself into the corner to try to hide from him. “I want Iwa-chan,” he’d sobbed eventually. After days of panic, this had been the only thing he could think about in his exhaustion.

“He woke up not long ago,” the Professor had told him. He had a stern face, and in a way Tooru was still scared of him, even years later. “If you calm down, you’ll be able to see him.”

That had gotten him to collapse out of his panic. Hajime had been the first face he’d seen coming out of the isolation room.

It was ironic, really. Hajime had been the one hurt the most seriously, and yet it had been Hajime’s mother who had come to the Institute with her son. She had smiled at Tooru and hugged him as well. She had been the one on the phone with Tooru’s parents as they boxed up his things. Tooru had only overheard a few sentences from his own mother.

_ That’s not my son, _ she’d said.  _ My son is a sweet boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly. That thing nearly killed us all. I can’t believe you’d risk Hajime’s life again by let him near... _

Hajime’s mother had slammed the phone down, cutting the last sentence Tooru ever heard from either of his parents short. She’d been surprised to see him, listening in, the words  _ that thing _ settling somewhere into the base of his heart. He’d smiled sweetly at her. It had been his first fake smile.

“You’ll be living here now, Tooru,” she had whispered. “These people will teach you how to control your powers. You’ll be like a superhero.”

“Okay,” he’d said. Superhero sounded a lot nicer than  _ that thing _ , but it wasn’t what had stuck with him. His first room had been a lot nicer than the isolation room, too, but that wasn’t what had stuck with him either. It had always been the isolation room that lurked at the bottom floor of the Institute and his mind, full of lasts and firsts and the hissed words  _ that thing _ over the phone.

The isolation room is the living reminder of everything that threatens to swallow Tooru alive if he ever stops moving.

“Please don’t make me go back there,” he pleads with Hajime.

Hajime groans, rubbing at his eyes. He’s frustrated with Tooru. He doesn’t understand why Tooru is so insistent. Tooru can’t bring himself to explain, but Hajime yields. Hajime always yields, and Tooru hates it a little. “Alright. A little longer, but if this thing gets out of control one more time, it’s the isolation room, okay?”

Tooru wonders how sick he’d have to be for Hajime to be able to force him into that room. He wonders if one more attack like this will get him that far. “Alright,” he concedes.

Hajime slumps back, sighing out in relief. Tooru still feels like he lied. “Thank you,” he murmurs.  _ It’s just like you to speed things up like this. So impatient _ , he thinks, trying not to panic.

Tooru blinks up at the ceiling, trying not to cry.

-X-

Akaashi is angry at him. He does his best not to be in the room often so that it doesn’t upset Tooru, but every time he comes in to grab something from his things, it thrums a little again.

“You’re mad at me,” Tooru says, when Akaashi takes a moment to find his favorite sweater.

“Your mind-reading skills are incredible,” Akaashi says dryly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Tooru tries. Akaashi’s thoughts are careful, and Tooru can’t quite make out what his problem is.

Akaashi is quiet, staring down at his sweater. “I talked to Iwaizumi-san. Apparently you have a tendency to let your powers run wild when you’re panicking. With my powers it would have been simple to calm you down before your powers flared up to such a catastrophic extent.”

“I know,” Tooru murmurs. “I just… it was your panic attack that woke up the mind-reading, I think, and I didn’t want you to feel like it was your fault.”

“You were selfish,” Akaashi snaps, raising his voice suddenly as he whirls around. Tooru starts at the change. “You didn’t want anyone to see you being weak and you pinned it on  _ me _ , of all people. You didn’t care about my feelings, or my trauma, because if you  _ had  _ you would have given me the agency to decide on my own instead of  _ lying  _ to me as though I was too weak to handle the idea that my actions, involuntary or not, could come with consequences.”

Tooru’s not sure what hurts more, the fact that he’s right or the fact that there’s a lingering voice in the back of Akaashi’s head that expects to be hurt for starting such outright conflict. “You’re right,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Akaashi’s shoulders relax slowly. It’s still bizarre to him, it seems, that he doesn’t have to suffer for his anger. “I didn’t mean to yell at you,” he says. It seems most of the fire in his words had come from the expectation that this would end in a fight.

“It’s fine,” Tooru says. Some part of him wants to yell back, shift the blame so he doesn’t feel so awful about stressing everyone, rushing Hajime… For whatever decision he’s made about the isolation room. But mostly he just wants to rest and wants comfort and he wants everyone around him to be alright too.

Akaashi seems to sense this, and he sits beside Tooru, holding his hand and squeezing. “May I help you calm down this time, Oikawa-san?” he says softly.

Tooru nods, a whimper crawling up his throat. His head hurts and he’s quivering with everything that’s happened today. Akaashi smoothes his hair out of his face and calmness washes over him. Strangely enough, the first thing that does is loosen all the hurt that’s clamped down on Tooru’s heart and he bursts into tears the moment it does.

The worries line up on his tongue. He’s helpless, and so far the only thing he was capable of doing was smoothing the way for Hajime, but now his terror of the isolation room has forced him to fail in that, too. He’s frightened of dying, he’s frightened of the pain, he’s frightened of the roaring weight of all those thoughts, but more than anything he’s frightened of being in that room and waiting for it in the silence.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” he whispers. “Don’t tell Hajime, but I don’t think…”

Akaashi just lays down beside him and pulls him into his arms, holding tight. It makes Tooru feel small for a moment, but he realizes he’s done exactly this for Akaashi, and it feels more like a debt being paid than pity. That he can handle. He hugs back and lets all the rest of his worries and aches spill out, talking until he can’t anymore.

“My family will be relieved that my powers finally got me,” he whispers, wiping away snot desperately. “And… and… it’ll all be finally over and Hajime… you guys will help him move on, and…”

“Is your fear of the isolation room because of your family?” Akaashi whispers, combing his fingers through Tooru’s hair.

_ No,  _ Tooru wants to say, because it’s so much more than that, but he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to explain it all, everything he’s walled in with fake smiles and effort, so instead he nods. 

“Don’t give up just yet,” Akaashi whispers, holding him close. “If it’s family you need, you have us now.”

Tooru nods again.  _ Of course I’m not going to give up because my mother stopped loving me fifteen years ago, _ he wants to say. Somewhere deep down, though, he knows that it’s as much a lie as the previous nod. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. So. Yes.
> 
> Next week: Listen, after all this talk about that room... take a wild guess.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime’s stomach drops through the floor. He already knows what the call is about, because it’s so… so Tooru. When they were eight, Tooru had gotten stuck in a tree. Hajime had tried to coax him down for an hour, but the moment he’d started climbing up the tree to help him down, Tooru had immediately tried to grab for him and had fallen right out of the tree. When they were seventeen, Tooru had blown out his knee five seconds after Hajime had uttered the words “You’re overworking yourself and I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself.”
> 
> Tooru is always one step ahead of him and too often in the wrong direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super long and I did not realize this until now.
> 
> Content warnings for panic attacks, fairly unhealthy handling of a panic attack and seizures between "It’s only the fact that Hajime immediately grabs onto his waist tightly and refuses to let go that prevents it." and "Hajime slumps against the bed." Also, mentions of seizures before and after that.

Given all the things Hajime knows about Akaashi, the last thing he’d expected when they finally ended up alone in a room together is to be the one intimidated. It’s something about the intensity of his eyes, or the way he sits down on Hajime’s bed with his back straight like he’s perfectly at ease, even if he seemed nervous asking Hajime if he could come in.

“You said you wanted to talk about Tooru?” Hajime says.

“Yes,” Akaashi says. “I promised him I wouldn’t tell you, but I’ve changed my mind. He’s… worrying me.”

Given that Tooru hasn’t left the safety of his blankets for nearly two days, Hajime can’t blame him. “What is it now?” Hajime sighs, sitting down on the chair in front of him.

“He… well. He was more pessimistic about things than he wants to admit to you,” Akaashi says. “And I think he’s less willing to try the isolation room than he’s told you.”

“What a shock,” Hajime groans, rubbing at his forehead. Of course, he’d seen Tooru’s reluctance, but he’d thought, for once, that Tooru would concede before hurting himself.

“He mentioned something about his family,” Akaashi says. “I’m sure you understand that better than I do.”

Hajime groans, sinking his face into his hands. Of course. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Tooru is thinking about his parents right now. “Thanks,” he says, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I think I know what to do.”

“Good luck,” Akaashi says. “I’m trying to help him as much as I can, but it’s you he really needs.” He stands up, waving almost shyly and letting himself out of Hajime’s room.

To be honest, of all the things Hajime had thought would come up when the shit hit the fan, this was the last of them. He feels a little upset with Tooru, to be honest, for telling Akaashi first, but Hajime finds that he can’t blame Tooru. Akaashi’s unique blend of intimidating severity and gentle calmness makes him want to spill worries he hadn’t realized he had yet too.

Of course, the solution to this one problem is simple, for a change. In fact, he should have done it awhile ago, but really… it’s only been a few weeks, and he’s been… busy. Panicking. And reviewing data. And panicking.

 _“Hajime! Finally, a phonecall!”_ his mother’s voice says over the phone.

“Uh,” he manages. “Yeah. Sorry. I… uh… I’ve been kinda busy.”

_“Too busy for your own mother?”_

“Yeah,” Hajime sighs. “It’s… it’s Tooru.”

The silence on the other end of the line goes serious. _“Is he alright?_ ”

“Not really. You know how I had a theory about his powers?” His mother had been the only one he’d voiced his concerns to. He doesn’t know why he didn’t tell her they were valid.

 _“He’s started reading minds, hasn’t he_ ,” she says, sounding resigned.

“Yeah,” Hajime murmurs.

 _“Poor boy,”_ she says. _“How is he?”_

“That’s… that’s why I’m calling,” Hajime says. He hears her draw in a breath, preparing for the worst. “He’s got a lot on his mind, obviously, but I brought up the isolation room as a possible solution, and… and I guess it reminds him of his family?” He groans, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I think it was the last straw for him. He doesn’t feel good, but as of yesterday, he’s also been impossible to cheer up. I can’t get him out of bed at all.”

He hears her sigh in relief. Emotional hurt is something she can handle. _“I can imagine.”_

“Anyway, I thought it might help him if you came and… gave some motherly support.”

He can almost hear her smile fondly over the phone. _“Actually, I can do one better._ ”

-X-

Tooru looks like a nightmare. Specifically, he looks like Hajime’s nightmare. He’s pale and his hair is unbrushed, and he can barely crawl his way into sitting up when Hajime wakes him. He squints up at Hajime, eyes flat and unfocused. “My head hurts,” he croaks, shoulders slumped. He looks like there’s something dead in him already.

Hajime wordlessly hands him two pills for the pain and a glass of water. Tooru swallows them obediently. Hajime picks up his blanket and wraps it around his shoulders. “Come on, I’ve got something that might cheer you up,” he says.

Tooru hums, and he only stumbles a little when he tries to stand up. Hajime holds his shoulders to support him. “No rush,” he says gently. He wonders how much of Tooru’s sickness is sadness and fear, and how much is actually his powers sapping his energy.

He helps him down the stairs and into the living room. His mother accosts Tooru before Hajime can prepare his boyfriend properly. She’s a tall woman, which makes it all the more frustrating that Hajime never caught up to Tooru’s height, but it helps her pull Tooru into a firm hug. A slow smile crawls over Tooru’s face when he realizes it’s her. “Obasan,” he whispers, clutching the back of her shirt. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“Look at you!” she cries, pulling away to grab his face and shake him a little. Hajime has been told she has a bit of an Indian accent, but he has never been able to hear it. “You’re wasting away. Hajime! I can’t believe you didn’t bring me over to cook this poor child soup already!”

“He’s been busy taking care of me,” Tooru says, loyal to Hajime over his mother for possibly the first time in his life.

“Bah!” she cries. “What kind of soup do you want?”

“I like all your soups, Obasan,” Tooru murmurs with a subdued smile, then frowns. “Please don’t worry, I’m feeling better already now that you’re here.”

She hesitates for a moment. She hadn’t shown any concern, though Hajime knows she must feel plenty, seeing Tooru like this, but Tooru had picked up on it anyway. “Then I’ll make more than one,” she says, shaking off the surprise. “But first, I have a surprise for you.”

Tooru tilts his head, and his eyes light up just a little. Tooru is weak to gifts and bribery, always has been. Hajime isn’t sure how she manages to keep it a secret from him, whatever it is, but she guides him further into the living room.

There’s another woman with short brown hair sitting there with a boy around eight years old. She bounds to her feet when she sees Tooru. Tooru freezes immediately, but Hajime takes a moment to recognize her. Oikawa Mayumi, Tooru’s older sister, has grown up to be a very beautiful woman, about the same height as Hajime. Hajime hasn’t seen her in years. “Tooru!” she cries, with a hesitant smile. “You’re so tall!”

“Onesan,” Tooru says, stuck between breathless and haughty. “And…”

“I know you must be upset with me,” she says, brushing her hair behind her ear. She looks just like Tooru. “I didn’t know what had happened.”

“You didn’t know that our parents kicked me out,” Tooru grits out.

“Not why, no,” she says. “They said… well, you don’t want to know what they said, but I would have never thought that they’d lie like that. I only just decided to speak to Iwaizumi-san, and she explained the whole situation. I’m so sorry, Tooru.”

Tooru’s eyes narrow, but he gives up quickly with a sigh. “Mayumi,” he mutters. “I can read minds. I know what they said.” Hajime wonders what it was. Tooru gives him a look, as though to say, _I’m not ready to tell you yet_ , and Hajime accepts that reluctantly.

Mayumi claps a hand over her mouth, then realizes it won’t too much good and sighs, sitting back down. “But then… you know how sorry I am, right?”

Tooru nods, sinking down into the armchair. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I do.” His eyes slide to the boy, who is contemplating him as well. “This is…?”

“Takeru,” she says quickly. “This is Takeru, my son.”

“My nephew,” Tooru says, as though he doesn’t quite believe it.

“He’s… he’s also…” she says, then stops. “That was why I spoke to Iwaizumi-san. The way Otosan reacted…”

Tooru leans forward, gesturing for Takeru to come closer. “What can you do, Takeru?”

“I can make people tell the truth,” Takeru replies.

Tooru freezes. Hajime may not read minds, but he knows Tooru well enough to know what he’s thinking. That’s a telepathic power, in a little boy that shares Tooru’s genes. Tooru is practically lighting up with determination, because up until now, he’s been fighting for Hajime, but the small part of him that doesn’t think Hajime needs him has been untouched. Now, though, if he survives it means hope for this little boy, who Tooru has only known for a few moments.

Sometimes, Hajime wonders if Tooru just sees other people more than he sees himself, or if there’s just something in him that won’t allow him to stop trying to break his back to deliver the best to everyone he cares about. Tooru does his best to act like he’s self-centered, and yet he gives and gives and never stops to think of himself.

Hajime sees the blush that creeps up Tooru’s neck when he gets the gist of Hajime’s thoughts, but he doesn’t care how embarrassed Tooru is to hear that underneath all the ambition and desire that make Tooru who he is, he’s still a tragically selfless person, Hajime’s going to keep thinking it.

“So what kind of soup did you want, Tooru?” his mother interjects.

“Miso,” Tooru says, a little sheepishly. There’s a bit more color in his cheeks already.

 _The less you care about yourself the more I have to, asshole_ , Hajime thinks vehemently. _My heart’s gonna burst. Pull your weight._

Tooru’s definitely blushing now. “So how old are you, Takeru?”

Hajime grins and slips behind Tooru to kiss his neck as he talks to Takeru and Mayuri. _I love you, stupid_ , he thinks, and Tooru nestles his head back a little in response.

-X-

“Stay,” Tooru whispers that night, snuggled close to Hajime. Hajime was already planning on it.

He lets Tooru relax onto his chest, continuing to read articles on his tablet. He thinks Tooru might be sleeping, but after a while Tooru sighs and looks up.

“Ignoring the fact that you banded together with your mother to ruthlessly manipulate me…” he starts, then stops. He knows very well that Hajime didn’t know about Takeru. He huffs and looks at his toes. “… I might have been a little too hasty about the isolation room.”

Hajime hums, like this is all new information. Tooru flicks his nose.

“At this point I don’t think I could stay calm in there,” Tooru continues, squirming closer to Hajime, “so I think it would do more harm than good. But if this gets overwhelming again, I guess… I’ll try it.”

“You already promised you would,” Hajime murmurs.

“But this time I mean it,” Tooru whines.

“Oh, well in that case…” Hajime says, laughing.

Tooru pouts at him, then blushes when Hajime looks down at him. “What?” Hajime asks, chuckling.

His answer is a dramatic hand shoved over his face. “Stop thinking… _things_ …” Tooru mutters.

Hajime barely has the foresight to put his tablet on the nightstand before rolling on top of Tooru. “What things?” he asks.

“ _Nooo_ ,” Tooru moans.

“Hmm?” Hajime hums, grabbing Tooru’s wrists before he can cover his blushing face. He’s giddy with the idea that Tooru can feel, without any room for doubt, how very much Hajime loves him.

“Stop!” Tooru whines.

Hajime has half a mind to play innocent and see if he can force Tooru to repeat his thoughts, say the sort of nice things about himself that actually mean something, but Tooru is already glowering at him for the idea. Hajime laughs, then tapers off with a groan. “Shit. If I keep reviewing you’re gonna hear all of it.”

Tooru shrugs. “You don’t have to stay here every day,” he murmurs.

“Well…” Hajime mutters, trying to gauge Tooru’s reaction. He looks slightly upset, but not panicked. “Is that… will you be ok?”

“Call me on Skype and come back every night,” Tooru says, without a pause. He’s already thought of this. “And Akaashi and Kenma will be here with me so it’s not so bad, and your mother is staying in town for the weekend, so…” He chews at a finger absentmindedly. “Oh, and don’t be alone. Go over to Kuroo’s if you need to. Bokuto is usually home planning his final project, Akaashi says, so he’ll keep you company.”

“When did you plan this?” Hajime asks, blinking.

“You know exactly when I planned it,” Tooru mutters, avoiding Hajime’s look.

Hajime can’t quite read his face for a moment, but when he does he sits up. “You gave up,” he blurts. “You weren’t just discouraged, you _gave up_.”

His boyfriend avoids his gaze with a determined vigor. “It wasn’t that explicit, I just… you were going to put me in the isolation room and I figured I’d be a lost cause by the time I let that happen.”

“You… you _asshole_ ,” Hajime growls, grabbing Tooru’s collar and pulling him up. Tooru regards his rage calmly. “How could you do that? How could you just… decide you were gonna die?”

“We’re all going to die eventually, Iwa-chan,” Tooru sing-songs, clearly trying to deal with his guilt by just barreling further into the worst of it and taking it head on, like he deserves the punishment.

“Don’t you dare,” Hajime hisses. “Don’t you dare do that to me.” It’s a bit of a lie. Hajime feels betrayed, sure, but because Tooru is hurting _himself_ , devaluing _himself_ , not because he’s hurting Hajime. But Tooru doesn’t want to hear that nothing is as unforgivable to Hajime as hurting Tooru, because hurting Tooru is exactly what Tooru specializes in.

“Don’t worry. Now I have a nephew, and I can do it for him,” Tooru whispers.

_What about for me? Don’t you know I can’t live without you?_

Tooru smiles. “I know,” he whispers. “I believe you.”

If Hajime knew him any less, he would have thought Tooru meant it.

He lets Tooru’s collar out of his grip. He _still_ … _Still…_ “I’m surprised you didn’t hit me, you brute,” Tooru laughs, changing the topic before the realization can settle in Hajime’s mind. “What happened to my Neanderthal?”

“He grew up and realized you want to get punched,” Hajime says. He’s still angry, but he’s tired of this. “And isn’t going to give you the satisfaction.”

He means it as a joke, but it’s not. Hajime hasn’t ever been very good at verbalizing. Despite how talkative he is, neither is Tooru.  When they were ten, it was good enough to teasingly wrestle and punch and bite, but now they’re together and Hajime is ready to grow out of that. He’s more ready for it every day. More importantly, he wonders if maybe Tooru took his roughhousing a little more seriously than Hajime did.

Tooru looks away at that thought. “Don’t try to say I didn’t piss you off all the time.”

“Yeah, you were obnoxious,” Hajime says. “All the time. Intentionally. And… I liked playing along with whatever you were playing. I always did. When you grinned at me like I should be annoyed, I was. When we were little you thought it was hilarious. It made you happy. I wanted you to be happy.”

“What a speech, Iwa-chan,” Tooru taunts, but Hajime sees the tears that threaten to fall.

“Don’t you dare give up,” Hajime croaks. “Don’t ever… don’t you dare.”

Tooru’s mouth twists. He’s trying, Hajime can tell. Hell, he’s _improved_. But Tooru, quite frankly, has built himself around self-hatred, and something with roots that deep is hard to kill.

“I already changed my mind,” Tooru says. “I made a plan.”

But not for himself.

“No,” Tooru whispers. “But for you, too. That’s a start, right?”

Hajime scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he manages. “Yeah, sure.”

Tooru closes his eyes and sighs. “I thought I’d die in the first attack,” he says. “And even when it died down that stuck with me, ok? And I didn’t want to spend my last days scared and alone in that stupid room if I wasn’t gonna make it. I panicked, alright? But if it’s not about me then I have something to focus on, instead of just thinking how awful it was to lose control.” He looks away. “I didn’t _just_ give up because I don’t have any self worth.”

“Just,” Hajime mutters.

“Give me a break,” Tooru snaps. “I _know_. I know you love me and I know it’s awful that even while _literally_ reading your mind I can’t really believe it. I _know_. I’m _tired_ and _scared_ and I think I’m doing a pretty good job of not _losing_ it. So I have my low points. I’m _working_ on it.”

Hajime blinks at him. “O-okay,” he stutters. Tooru’s never defended himself this vehemently. Maybe Hajime’s love _is_ getting to him. Tooru blushes. “You’re right. What’s the plan?”

“I’ve asked Akaashi to stay and manage my panic attacks, you can do your reviewing at Bokuto’s and call me every so often, and then you can come over in the evening and cuddle me. And your mom can make me more soup,” Tooru mutters. “A real team effort.”

Hajime lets his knuckles brush against Tooru’s cheek. “Sounds good.”

“And don’t yell at me,” Tooru says.

“I didn’t yell.”

“You were yelling in spirit.”

“I was not, I was just mad.”

“In a yelly way.”

“It was _not…_ You know what. Fine. Fine, I won’t yell. In spirit. Dumbass.”

Tooru laughs, light and soft. “Were you really grumpy because it made me happy?”

“Well,” Hajime says, laying down beside Tooru. “I mean, I had a pretty grumpy face and I wasn’t exactly the bubbliest kid. But you liked that and I liked you, so I played into it. It was just one of our games, I guess, like chasing you with beetles.”

“Don’t tell me you did that to make me happy,” Tooru mutters, scrunching his nose up.

“Oh, come on. You screamed and ran around, but you couldn’t stop laughing. And you kept pointing out beetles for me. Regular tag was too boring for you.”

Tooru narrows his eyes at him. “Dammit,” he mutters. “You’re right.” He grins. “Well, I’m glad. If you didn’t have such a scowly face, you’d be a real charmer, and then everyone would want you, and you wouldn’t be all mine.”

“Ha,” Hajime says. “Please. You think you’re the only one who had a fanclub? I’m as attractive to gay men as you are to women.”

“You had a _fanclub_?”

“Oh yeah. I used to go to gay clubs every so often my first year of college… Men have literally thrown themselves at me.” Tooru gapes at him. Hajime laughs. “Do you think I’m dating you because I couldn’t get laid without you?”

“Maybe a little,” Tooru mutters.

Hajime bursts out laughing. “You’re the biggest moron I’ve ever met,” he chuckles.

“Mean,” Tooru grumbles into his chest as he hides his face.

Hajime buries his nose into Tooru’s hair and kisses his head. “It’s your fault.”

Tooru kicks him in the shin.

-X-

“You want me to cook you something?” Bokuto says, as Hajime slams his face into his keyboard.

Bokuto has been the perfect company, more so than Hajime thought he would be. He’s a constant source of background noise, that’s for sure. He’s listening to his music and humming along and tapping his foot, unable to stay still and quiet, but it’s not very loud, and he’s totally focused on his art. He’s smeared pastels and chalk all over his nose somehow, and he radiates happiness.

Kuroo occasionally stumbles into the room, looking through the notebooks scattered over his bed for something. Sometimes Bokuto gets up to wrap a scarf around him and kiss his nose before Kuroo dashes off again, always on the move. Tooru was right. This is nicer than sitting in his room, maybe getting a glance at Matsukawa and Hanamaki before they race off again to do… whatever they do. Hajime does not want to know. _At all_.

“We were supposed to have months,” Hajime mutters.

Bokuto is quiet and still for once, but somehow he still manages to let off his emotions like a beacon, as though his stillness is shouting _I’m listening! You’re welcome to talk to me!_ It’s something in his eyes, maybe, or the way he leans forward intently.

“I thought it was gonna be months before he even _started_ reading thoughts, but he took off running and I don’t know… I don’t have any ideas. I mean, people have been reviewing this shit trying to come up with solutions for years and I’m gonna do it in what… a few weeks? I can’t…” He sighs, burying his head in his hands. “I’ve barely had enough time to read everything.”

“Well, but then you know what they’ve tried before, right?” Bokuto says, leaning his elbows on the desk and peering at Hajime. He doesn’t seem to feel the need to feel sorry for Hajime, just bounds right into the optimistic approach. Hajime is so relieved he almost cries. Tooru probably planned this. “So… what’ve you got?”

“Well, I mean, the first batch of telepaths was about thirty years ago, right, and the group was pretty underfunded, so they just tried different pain medications, right?” Hajime says. “That’s actually most of the patients they’ve had.”

Bokuto nods, intent.

“Well,” Hajime says, sighing. “Uh… there’s been three survivors, but two of them didn’t follow the pattern. They showed really low level telepathic abilities from birth without any of the side effects. They had some MRIs done and were asked to report back if they started seeing symptoms.”

“Have you tried talking to them?”

“No, but I doubt they’ll be of any help. They’ve got something different entirely. But I guess it’s worth a try to write to them.” He thumbs through the papers and grabs one of the survivors’ case files, typing in the name. Bokuto watches curiously. Hajime Googles his name quickly. _Semi Eita._ “What the hell.”

The first result is an article about a missing person’s case.

Bokuto leans further in. “Whoa,” he mutters. “He looks like Akaashi.”

“Yeah,” Hajime says, opening the article and skimming it. “Went missing just like him too. Two years before he did.”

“Ushijima was looking for telepaths, right?” Bokuto says. “But jeez, that means he’s still there… That’s awful.”

“Hold on,” Hajime murmurs. He finds the next case file. _Shirabu Kenjirou._ Another missing person’s case, but this time recent. “Got picked up an underground gambling ring, bailed out of jail by a mysterious party, and then vanished.”

“Huh,” Bokuto says. “Why would he be different?”

“I don’t know,” Hajime whispers. “Alright, I’m sending these to Kenma, we can’t get distracted by this now.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto murmurs, but he’s still frowning at the pictures, like he’s wondering where Semi Eita is right now and whether he’s ok. Hajime wonders what it must feel like, after everything with Akaashi, but he doubts it’s good.

“Anyway. Third survivor is the Professor. Weird thing is, he grew up in the middle of nowhere and got his powers when he was living alone. He had migraines, but nothing degenerative until he went to Dublin to help McTaggert with her study. Then he had the stroke and lost his legs, but when he returned home he improved again.”

“So the isolation helped?” Bokuto asks.

“You’d think. But afterwards, when new patients were isolated, their symptoms would slow, but not stop, and they died anyway. I mean… it’s not a common power, so there’s only been about two… three people since the Professor, but…”

“Hm,” Bokuto says, chewing at his lip. “You know when you’re in a really loud place for a really long time, like at a party or something, and then it’s like your brain starts itching and humming?”

Hajime blinks at him. “Uh… kinda?”

“Well, Kenma gets it too, you know, that’s why neither of us ever goes to parties. Well, I mean, he has the touching thing, too, but that’s not important. Well, it is, but…”

“Bokuto,” Hajime says, before Bokuto gets entirely distracted.

“Hm?” Bokuto says. “Oh, right. Sorry. Anyway, when you get home you wanna turn off all the noises and just… not, you know? And for a little bit it’s nice! But then you realize your ears are ringing and you can hear yourself breathe and it’s like… too quiet! And it’s even worse and you kinda wanna stick your fingers in your ears and not hear anything, but you already aren’t! And so you gotta listen to music or like, tug on your ears or something to get it to stop?”

Hajime frowns at him. “Tooru really hates the isolation room,” he says slowly.

Bokuto cocks his head at him.

“Like, he _really_ hates it.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says softly, then, “So you think maybe it’s bad for him?”

Hajime groans. “It’s a stress reaction. First to the sensory overload, then to sensory deprivation. They never noticed it because patients were given things to do and none of the typical senses were cut off, but their strongest sense _was_ and prolonged sensory deprivation _does_ produce anxiety and depression, which, coupled with the damage they already suffered, killed them just the same.”

“So…” Bokuto starts, but the ringing of his phone cuts him off. He snatches it out of his pocket. “Ah, it’s Keiji.”

Hajime’s stomach drops through the floor. He already knows what the call is about, because it’s so… so Tooru. When they were eight, Tooru had gotten stuck in a tree. Hajime had tried to coax him down for an hour, but the moment he’d started climbing up the tree to help him down, Tooru had immediately tried to grab for him and had fallen right out of the tree. When they were seventeen, Tooru had blown out his knee five seconds after Hajime had uttered the words “You’re overworking yourself and I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself.”

Tooru is always one step ahead of him and too often in the wrong direction.

Hajime takes the phone. “How bad is it,” he whispers.

“Just come over quickly,” Akaashi says. “He won’t go in the isolation room without you.”

-X-

Kenma is on the couch nursing a bruised arm when he gets there. He glares at Hajime when he sees him. “He’s freaking out,” he mutters. “I don’t think he even noticed he was moving shit with his mind, but…”

Akaashi’s chewing at his lip. “It was sudden, just like last time,” he murmurs. “I don’t know what set it off. I t-think…” He has to pause, steady himself. He looks queasy. “I think he might have sensed Ushijima. He was looking out the window before he… well, he collapsed.”

“He had a seizure,” Kenma volunteers.

Hajime’s blood runs cold. “Alright,” he says, and he can’t quite breathe. He’s already backing up, heading towards the stairs. He tosses his phone at Kenma, who promptly doesn’t catch it and glares at him for trying when it lands beside him on the sofa, nearly missing his nose. “Call my mom. Tell her I think I’ve got a solution but we’re both going to need a while in the isolation room, alright?”

He thunders down the stairs without waiting for an answer.

“One minute and forty three seconds,” Suga informs him when Hajime thunders down the steps to the infirmary. He’s sitting on the bottom step, looking severe. Hajime struggles to remember his classes for a moment. A seizure had to be more than five minutes long before an ambulance had to be called. “Careful, his telekinesis is cutting in and out, but it’s quite powerful. Kenma carried him down this far but… well.”

Hajime nods, slipping past him. Tooru is sitting propped against the wall, next to the isolation room, down the hallway. There’s a small dint in the wall across from him. “It’s me,” he calls. “Try not to throw me into a wall or anything. Also, Kenma’s mad at you. For totally unrelated reasons.”

Tooru doesn’t laugh. As Hajime gets closer, he manages to turn his head to look at him. Blood is dripping straight down his chin and down the side of his ear. He looks terrible. Hajime tries not to think about it.

“I can’t be an astronaut with seizures,” Tooru croaks, his voice slurred a little. His eyes don’t quite focus on Hajime.

“Did you want to be an astronaut?” Hajime murmurs, squatting down beside Tooru.

Tooru laughs, or at least makes an attempt. “They don’t take mutants,” he wheezes, slumping onto Hajime’s knee. “But maybe that would have changed and the option would have been nice.”

“Come on,” Hajime says, reaching for Tooru’s shoulder to get him up.

Tooru squeezes his eyes shut. “Just give me one more minute with you, Iwa-chan,” he whispers. His shaking fingers skitter across Hajime’s jaw. “I didn’t… this morning I didn’t feel like it’d be the day. I didn’t prepare.”

He says it like he’s saying goodbye, like he expects this to be the last time he sees Hajime’s face. “I’m coming in with you,” he growls, hauling Tooru into his arms.

“What?” Tooru mumbles. “Into the isolation room?”

“Yeah,” Hajime mutters. “So stop with the teary goodbyes. You said you weren’t giving up again.”

Tooru tries to laugh again, but he sounds like he’s too tired to do anything but flop over Hajime’s shoulders. His breaths are coming short and quick. Hajime realizes he’s crying. Hajime rubs his back a little, but he has to stop as he struggles to get the door open without dropping Tooru.

The isolation room isn’t as bad as he thought. Back in the day, he’d only seen Tooru once they’d let him out, since he’d been too shaky to leave his bed. He’d had a headache for days after waking up, and he’d been upset that Tooru had taken so long to visit him. His mother and Tooru had explained to him why in confused, gentle terms, but all Hajime remembered at this point was the sheer disappointment when learning that Tooru couldn’t live in Miyagi anymore.

Somehow, he’d always imagined the isolation room to be a terrifyingly cold, clinically white room with bare walls the smell of antiseptic lingering in the air.

It is fairly bare, probably to prevent anyone from hurting themselves with whatever power they need the isolation for. There’s a bolted down cabinet in the corner and a bed across the room, and it’s clearly painted with the intention of being low intensity, the walls slightly off-white and the trims an unimposing cream. There’s a door through one wall, probably to the bathroom. It’s kind of cozy, if bland.

Tooru, however, whimpers the moment that Hajime kicks the door shut behind them, his hand shuddering across Hajime’s shoulder so that he can bring his sweater sleeve up to muffle his sobs.

Hajime lays him down on the bed, thumbing at the soft locks falling into his eyes. “Shh,” he whispers. “It’s ok, I’m here. You don’t have to be alone this time.”

“When are you leaving?” Tooru chokes out.

“I’m not leaving,” Hajime says.

Tooru shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, like he can’t believe Hajime if he tries, but is scared to try at all. “Tooru, baby,” Hajime murmurs, tilting Tooru’s head up at him. “Look at me. I’m not leaving. Catch your breath and I’ll explain, okay?”

He watches Tooru wrench his eyes open, and he smiles. For some reason, this is the wrong thing to do, because Tooru curls in on himself and lets out a muffled cry, shaking his head furiously and collapsing into sobs, knees coming up into a fetal position.

“Tooru…” Hajime croaks, draping himself around Tooru’s shoulders and hugging him tight. “Tooru, sweetheart, it’s ok. I’m here, I’m staying, I promise. Come on, you can read my mind, you know I’m not lying.”

Tooru shakes his head desperately. “It’s so much, it’s so jumbled, I can’t… I can’t…” he gasps. “Am I dying? Are you staying with me so I don’t die alone?” His breath catches on that thought and he lets out an anguished cry. “Oh, gods, I’m gonna die.”

“You’re not…” Hajime starts, but Tooru has already started hyperventilating, and he’s crying so hard he can’t breathe. “You’re _not_ dying. Come on. Tooru, look at me.”

Unfortunately, Hajime has never figured out how to deal with Tooru’s panicked crying in a gentle way, and he has to resort to the tried and true technique he’s mastered over the years. He pulls away and forces Tooru’s hands away from his face, tucking them between Tooru’s legs, which he weighs down with his knee, then grabs his face, jerking his chin up fast enough that it startles Tooru into looking at him.

Manhandling is _not_ a healthy way to deal with a panic attack, and nearly-a-neurosurgeon Hajime knows this, but seven year old Hajime hadn’t known when he’d started the tradition after Tooru had fallen into a river and had been unable to calm down even after Hajime had fished him out.

“Stop,” Hajime says severely. “Breathe. Calm down. Focus on me. You’re _not_ dying. I’d be thinking about it if you were. Am I thinking about it?”

Tooru takes a long shuddering breath, but he can’t hold it and has to try again, brown eyes wide and fixed on Hajime. Hajime holds his face in his hands steadily, trying to keep his thoughts calm and ordered. Tooru lets out his breath slowly.

“That’s it,” Hajime murmurs. “Focus on me.”

“Why… why are you…?” Tooru murmurs, and Hajime can feel his eyes roving over his face, sorting through thoughts.

“It was Bokuto’s idea,” Hajime says. “I think the isolation might have bad effects, so I’m gonna try staying with you, and we’ll see if you get better. You won’t get as overwhelmed, but you won’t be cut off entirely.”

Tooru breathes out again, slow and shivering. “So you’ll stay with me…?”

“As long as you need me to,” Hajime murmurs.

Tooru gawks at him. “Oh,” he croaks. He’s still for a few minutes, looking around the room, then huffs, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. He tries for a smile, but it crumbles into tears before it can even take its shape. “I still hate this room.”

“I know,” Hajime chuckles, settling back onto his feet, pulling Tooru’s forehead onto his shoulder. “I know, but we’re gonna get through this, together.”

He sits quietly, on the floor with one arm over Tooru’s shoulders and the other over his waist, running his hands over his ribs and back. Tooru lets one hand tangle in his shirt and the other pull Hajime closer, holding him so tight that Hajime can’t get up until Tooru finally cries himself to sleep.

Hajime slips in beside him, and Tooru doesn’t even stir. He looks exhausted even in sleep, circles like bruises under his eyes, his whole face blotchy and pale. Hajime lets out a long breath. This is going to be quite the exercise in meditation and positive thinking. He lays down on the outside of the bed, then thinks better of it and shifts to the side closer to the wall. If Tooru wakes up with his telekinesis going wild, Hajime won’t be thrown straight across the room.

Better yet, now they’re spooning, and Hajime can wrap his arms around Tooru’s waist and pull him close, dropping a small kiss on the back of his neck.

“Sleep tight, Tooru,” he whispers.

-X-

It turns out to be a good bet, because, of course, Tooru wakes up screaming and nearly throws Hajime into the wall. It’s only the fact that Hajime immediately grabs onto his waist tightly and refuses to let go that prevents it. “Tooru!” he yelps. “Hey! Wake up!”

Tooru flails, elbowing Hajime in the face, yelling for… for his mother. _Shit_.

“Tooru! Wake up!”

Tooru slumps over Hajime’s arms, and the strange pull Hajime feels towards the wall vanishes, but Tooru’s still gasping for breath and sobbing into the pillows. When Hajime’s grip loosens, he immediately makes a dash for the door, but he can’t get his legs under him when he vaults out of bed, making it easy for Hajime to leap after him and gather him back in his arms.

“Let me out!” Tooru screams, an agonizing fear in his voice. It’s a mindless cry, like Tooru hasn’t quite processed what’s going on and is still living in whatever hellscape he dreamed up. “Please, let me out!”

“You’re here for your own good!” Hajime growls. “It was just a nightmare!”

Tooru kicks and screams and tries to bite him as Hajime struggles to wrestle him down. Occasionally Hajime feels the strong tug of Tooru’s powers, but he’s got his arms firmly wrapped around Tooru. “Let me go!” Tooru cries. “Let me go, I wanna go home!”

“You _live_ here!” Hajime growls. “This is _your_ basement, you idiot!”

All he gets in response is a cross between a whimper and a snarl, like he’s got a frightened animal in his arms instead of a fully grown college student. Tooru goes stiff, and Hajime takes a moment too long to realize why.

“Shit,” he whispers, easing Tooru onto the floor and grabbing the pillow from the bed, shoving it under Tooru’s head and rolling him onto his side. Panic threatens to claim him as he watches Tooru’s eyes roll back as he jerks. “Shit, shit, shit.” He remembers to time it just in time, fingers fumbling over his watch. He’s shaking, and he leaves himself a mental note to ask Kuroo if anyone ever told him how to keep his hands steady during surgery.

After the longest fifty-four seconds of Hajime’s life, Tooru stops twitching. Instead, he goes boneless, and there’s a few seconds of silence in which Hajime only hears the thudding of his heart. _Calm thoughts, calm thoughts_ , he reminds himself.

“... Ji… me…”?” Tooru croaks, arms moving slowly as if Tooru is trying to figure out which direction to push them in to prop himself up. “Ha…” He trails off, sloppily rolling over to look up. He can’t focus his eyes on Hajime, or even in his general direction. “Wa’sssssss…”

Hajime slumps against the bed. “Seizure,” he breathes.

“Mnnn?” Tooru manages, voice far too small for him.

“It was shorter than yesterday,” Hajime says. He knows that it’s somewhat random, but Tooru needs to stay calm. _Shorter than yesterday,_ he thinks. _That’s good. It’s shorter. Shorter is good._

Tooru tries to sit up, but his body isn’t cooperating. It seems to terrify him to realize that he can’t move how he wants, so Hajime intervenes quickly, helping him sit up before he can panic again. Tooru tumbles back onto his shoulder, then suddenly starts grabbing at his own feet with a kind of horrified fervor. He twitches his socked toes, then relaxes again. “Still feel ‘em,” he mumbles.

 _Right_ , Hajime thinks, _he’s worried about paralysis._ “Yeah, you’re all good,” he says. “Come on, back to bed.”

He lifts Tooru into the bed and slides the pillow under him. “Relax,” he says, and stands up to go try the intercom.

Tooru yelps and latches onto his sleeve, eyes wide and teary. “Don’t leave me,” he burbles. “Please, please, don’t leave me in here alone!” His speech is still slightly slurred, but the adrenaline has jolted him up.

“I’m not. I’ll be right there. At the intercom. Getting us breakfast,” he says. Tooru doesn’t look reassured, and he’s right on the edge of hyperventilating again. “Look,” he tries, pointing. “I’ll be right there. You’ll still be able to see me.”

He tugs his sleeve from Tooru’s shaking grip and backs away with slow, careful steps. He points at the intercom once it’s in reach. “Right here. Not going further, alright?”

Tooru’s still breathing too fast, but he nods and lays back, sniffling. Hajime fiddles with the intercom until he can manage to page someone. Suga’s gentle voice comes in. “Iwaizumi?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hajime says. “Hey.”

“How is he?”

“Uh… freaked out. And he just had another seizure so he’s pretty out of it.” Tooru blinks at him slowly, hands falling off the edge of the bed like they’re too heavy for Tooru’s wrists. “But he’s not getting any worse. You mind getting us food? And maybe, like, a laptop, for whenever Tooru gets coherent and I have to keep him occupied?”

“Yeah, sure. The cabinet over there has some DVDs and books, too. Probably some board games.”

“Thanks.”

Suga pokes his head in the door a few minutes later. Tooru moans and covers his ears. Suga hands Hajime a few bento boxes and Tooru’s laptop. “Sorry! Good luck!” he whispers, and shuts the door.

Hajime sets down the food and the laptop. He wants to wait for Tooru to be able to reliably sit up before putting food into him, so he gets a pack of cards from the cabinet and sits on the bed next to Tooru. “Wanna see some magic?” he asks. He’s terrible at magic tricks, has really only managed to pick up a few from boring classes with Kuroo. Kuroo’s great with cards.

Tooru brightens right up, though. “Yes!”

Hajime openly puts a card into his palm and then slides his palm beside Tooru’s ear. “What’s that in your ear?” he says.

Tooru tilts his head at him. Hajime flicks the card into his fingers with a flourish and shows it to him. Tooru’s mouth drops open. “Incredible,” he whispers.

Hajime tries not to laugh. He wishes someone was recording this. He wonders if maybe there are cameras and if he can get a copy of the footage. “It really is.” He procures the deck for Tooru. “Pick a card.”

With some effort, Tooru does that. He pouts when Hajime takes it back and puts it in the deck and shuffles it. He picks out a random card. “Was this your card?” he asks.

“I don’t remember,” Tooru says, with a helpful tone. “But probably!”

“I’m really bad at this, babe,” Hajime says.

Tooru smacks him in the face supportively. “Don’t say that.”

“You’ll be significantly less impressed when you’re fully awake.”

“I am awake!” Tooru protests, puffing out his cheeks. Hajime snorts. He’s not sure why Tooru thinks that was convincing. Tooru slaps his knee. “Don’t laugh at me. I don’t feel good.” He sinks his head onto Hajime’s knee and stays there, letting Hajime play with his hair for nearly an hour. Hajime lets him. He’s pretty sure Tooru hasn’t fallen back asleep and he probably needs the comfort.

Tooru sits up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. He squints. “I can’t see shit,” he realizes.

“Oh,” Hajime says. “Right. I forgot to ask Suga for your glasses.”

Tooru frowns at him. “Suga was here?”

“Yeah,” Hajime says.

“Oh, that was that noise,” Tooru mutters. “Next time ask him to send Lev. I don’t know how long the door was open but it was awful.”

Hajime laughs, sifting through the bag with the bento boxes. “Oh. Nevermind. He brought your glasses.”

“Refreshing-kun is so thoughtful,” Tooru murmurs, grabbing the glasses case from Hajime the moment he gets close enough. He looks a little better, though he’s still pale and the rings under his eyes are terrifying.

“He brought food and pain medication too,” Hajime says.

“I need both,” Tooru says immediately, eying the pill bottle.

“Headache?”

Tooru nods. “It’s not awful but it’s…” He thinks for a moment, then sighs, shoulders slumping. “No, it’s awful. Please drug me.”

“Addict,” Hajime says. “Need some water?”

Tooru eyes the bathroom door contemplatively. “Yeah, bring me a glass? I honestly don’t think I can stand up right now, my legs are shaking.”

Hajime practically runs to get him water. He has to help Tooru swallow the pill and drink the water, because his hands are unsteady as well. Tooru gives him a big grin, but it’s glassy and too perfect. “Are you going to feed me too?” he asks teasingly.

“Yep,” Hajime says, propping Tooru up on his shoulder and setting the bento onto his lap. “Open up, darling.”

Tooru is silent for a moment, then opens his mouth, lifting one hand under the chopsticks to make sure it doesn’t drip, leaving Hajime to run the thumb of his free hand up and down Tooru’s shoulder.

“I thought you said stuff like sweetheart and darling ironically,” Tooru says, about halfway through the meal.

Hajime snorts. “No. I think they’re sweet.”

“Okay,” Tooru says, and goes quiet again.

By the time he’s eaten, Tooru manages to sit up properly by himself. “I feel awful,” he says, as Hajime stuffs his face.

“Choose a movie. Come on, have at it. I’ll watch the shittiest sci-fi you’ve got,” Hajime mutters.

Tooru grins. “How about a four and a half hour sci-fi version of the Wizard of Oz?”

Hajime stares at him. “You’re testing me,” he says, without any real bite.

Tooru’s smile falters. “It’s really a lot,” he says, suddenly subdued again.

“My thoughts?”

“Yeah,” Tooru says. “Just… Have you ever really thought about how… huge a person is?”

Of course Hajime has. He’s grown up next to the most complex, overwhelming person in the world. It’s not for no reason that Hajime thinks of him as a galaxy. Tooru laughs at that, but it’s a breathless laugh, like he’s in pain. “Yeah, that’s… don’t do that.” His hands twist in the bed as he swings his legs over to sit on the edge. He gives the door an incomprehensible look. “I’m going to have to be in here for a while, aren’t I?”

“Probably until you learn to control these powers, yeah,” Hajime says. “But it looks like you’re better now that you’ve calmed down.”

Tooru smiles, his face sharp and brittle enough to cut through glass. “Well, good thing I don’t have anything stressful to deal with, like migraines or seizures or spending who knows how long in the room I associate with all my childhood trauma.”

Hajime sighs. “Come here,” he says, pulling Tooru in for a soft kiss.

“Ask Suga to turn the cameras off so we have have sex,” Tooru whispers.

“Okay there, Romeo,” Hajime says, laughing. “You look like a drowned puppy, I don’t know if I want to have sex with you at the moment. Just take it easy, alright? Can you get your laptop?”

Tooru nods and stands up, leaving Hajime to eat as he leans on the wall just a little and hobbles to the cabinet. He looks at the deck of cards. “Wait, did you really use my post-seizure confusion to distract me with shitty card tricks?” he exclaims.

“I didn’t want you to freak out again,” Hajime laughs.

“I thought I was dreaming! I can’t believe you’d pick on me while I was an easy target like that!”

“It made you happy!”

“Oh, sure, like you weren’t laughing at me!”

“I wasn’t!” He’s laughing right now.

“I _know_ you’re lying, I can read your mind!”

-X-

“This actually isn’t a bad movie,” Hajime says, as he starts the third part.

Tooru takes a moment to respond. “Oh,” he breathes, eyes a little glassy. “You said that one out loud.”

Hajime laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “Sorry. You want me to do something different when I’m saying stuff out loud?”

“No, it’s… not that easy to confuse, it’s just…” Tooru yawns. “When you’re focused on the movie you’re thinking less, so it’s easier to deal with. Honestly I was just listening to it… and I think I almost fell asleep.”

“So my thoughts are boring?”

“Comforting. Really overwhelming, but comforting,” Tooru mumbles, squeezing closer. “Gods, I’m scared to fall asleep. I think I might have nightmares again and then…”

Hajime rubs his back gently. “It’s ok. I’m right here. And to be honest, there’s several theories about why stress causes seizures, and one of the major ones is that it interferes with sleep and the lack of sleep is the seizure trigger…”

“Keep talking about this and I’ll sleep just fine,” Tooru sighs.

“Shut up,” Hajime mutters. “Like I don’t listen to you ramble on about black holes and whatever.”

“Just watch the movie and don’t think. Should be easy for you.”

Hajime pinches his side and he jerks feebly, but doesn’t make a sound. It’s not quite the reaction Hajime was hoping for. He gives Tooru a little kiss for the attempt. He hopes this will work. He wants Tooru to get better. He’s sure if Tooru can just relax and recover some he’ll be able to learn how to control his powers.

 _It will work_ , he tells himself severely. He looks down at Tooru, who has fallen asleep, and a kind of stubborn hope flares in his chest. _Yeah. Tooru’s gonna make it through this too._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't manhandle people having panic attacks, kids. (Get it together Hajime. Bokuto wouldn't manhandle a person in a panic attack. Jeez.)
> 
> Next week I reveal the true romance in this fic: Oikawa Tooru and his own bed in his own room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can do this in one week,” he informs Hajime. “Just let me out every morning and let me get used to people coming home.”
> 
> Hajime smiles. “It’s not a challenge.”
> 
> “Yes it is,” Tooru says with a grin. “It is and I accept.”
> 
> “Idiot,” Hajime says fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, ok. So. This chapter took me foreeever to write and I don't even know what to say about it. Enjoy!

The next few days are a kind of slow, dragging hell. For a while, Tooru’s headaches get worse, until even the medication doesn’t help and he spends the whole day curled up in the bathroom, sobbing and puking and having Hajime put wet towels on his forehead. Somehow, Hajime’s still holding onto the idea that this is just a kind of blowback from his episodes.

Tooru wants to kick and scream at him. He wants to yell  _ fuck you, you know I’m dying, just admit it, stop babying me, it’s going to drag you down with me, can’t you see _ , but he’s too weak to even lift his head and he doesn’t want Hajime to stop sitting with him, talking to him softly and sliding a pillow under his head to help with the seizures.

Sleep comes fitfully, irregularly, with nightmares. There’s no windows in here, though there are lamps that try to imitate the sun, going softer during the evening. It’s made to be comfortable, despite its primary function, but it’s not designed for someone to live in indefinitely.

“How long are we gonna be in here?” Tooru croaks. He’s not even sure how long they’ve been here already. He’s shaking and hurting and everything is blurry and he wants to be in his own damn room again. 

Hajime rubs his shoulders. “What, do you think you can handle a whole house full of people right now?”

Of course he couldn’t. Hajime is focusing on keeping his thoughts ordered and calm, letting them go as they come, but Tooru can feel all the sensations in him, down to the tips of his fingers and toes all vibrating around him like an aura, an aura that Tooru can neither see nor hear nor touch, but which chokes him with its intensity all the same.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“You’ll feel better soon,” Hajime says, and he’s so  _ sure _ . “And we’ll see. If it goes really slow, we’ll figure out something with a window, I promise.”

“Has it been a week yet?” That feels like underestimating. “Two?”

“Two and a half days,” Hajime says.

“What,” Tooru croaks. The tub is cold against his forehead even as Hajime does his best to warm his back. Tooru can’t feel a single muscle in his entire body that isn’t shaking. 

“I’m sorry. I wish I could make this suck less.” His thoughts are forcefully hopeful and supportive, but there’s something broken in his voice.

“This is hell.” Tooru knows it’s a low blow to say it out loud. He’s not sure if he says it to get it off his chest or to get Hajime to finally let go of the  _ It’s going to be alright _ bullshit.

Hajime just takes his hand and presses Tooru’s knuckles to his lips. Logically, Tooru knows it can’t be hell because Hajime is here, but to be honest Tooru isn’t surprised that the telepaths before him died. If it weren’t for Hajime, he would most certainly be dead already.

-X-

Hajime dutifully watches the entirety of Tooru’s movie collection with him, even though Tooru is in and out of consciousness and sometimes has to stop to dry heave a little into the toilet. At least it’s been awhile since the last seizure. Tooru is too tired to be upset anymore.

They start on Star Trek, which is nice because at least this way Tooru can estimate the passage of time, and Hajime’s into it, which makes his thoughts less brutal for Tooru’s mind. Sometimes they pause, presumably so that Hajime can get a bit of sleep. He sings his favorite songs in his head, and Tooru can follow the words step by step until they both doze off, uncomfortable against the tub, but huddled together.

Approximately two days later, Tooru is brave enough to let Hajime situate them back in the bed. The pain and intensity are improving and he doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore.

By the time they finish the original series, Tooru is able to sit and stand and the pain is only when Hajime gets contemplative. This is easily solved with a pillow to the head. At first Hajime is apologetic, which Tooru finds frustrating. He doesn’t like the idea of Hajime slinking around him like he’s fragile, but he also doesn’t feel ready for their usual banter. 

Everything feels stalled and stale. 

Lev comes by each day with food, poofing in and out. He’s surprisingly quiet, mentally, if not verbally.

Actually, Tooru thinks, perhaps it’s not so surprising. He wonders how quiet Tobio is. 

“You’re thinking something petty,” Hajime says. 

“I am  _ not _ ,” Tooru replies, but Hajime just raises his eyebrow. He knows that Tooru is lying. He’s relieved.

-X-

“Oh my gods I’m so booooored,” Tooru says, as they play go-fish again, Tooru on the ground with his legs on the bed and Hajime sitting cross-legged on the bed. It’s been, according to Hajime, a week and a half. 

“You’re getting some color in your face again,” Hajime says, thoughtfully. “How’s your head?”

“It’s not hurting,” Tooru says petulantly. He’s tuned out all but the clearest of thoughts at this point, almost instinctually, and the medication is finally keeping his headaches at bay.

“We can probably start asking the others to come visit. Akaashi, maybe, he’s pretty low-key.”

“Mmm,” Tooru says. “Probably. Definitely not Tetsu-chan, he’s constantly thinking. Kenma’s probably no better, either. Maybe Kou-chan.”

“Bokuto isn’t dumb,” Hajime says, with the air of a dog that has learned to respect another animal as its equal and now demands respect for it.

“Yes, but everything that happens inside his head comes straight out of his mouth, so it won’t be new,” Tooru says.

Hajime chuckles at that. “Alright, we’ll ask them in.” He leans forward to do a conspiratory whisper. “Also Suga told me they’re not watching the cameras unless we page them on the intercom, so we could have sex.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Tooru asks, sitting up a little too quickly and making himself dizzy. “We could have been having sex this whole time?”

“Yeah, I’m disappointed too. You were especially sultry when you were half-unconscious and puking in the bathroom.”

Tooru tugs on his leg hard enough to get him to slide to the floor and moves to strangle him. Hajime laughs and rolls him so that he’s laying on the bottom and Hajime can pin his arms down and tickle his face with his nose. Tooru cackles and kicks at him halfheartedly. Hajime’s joy at the sound flutters through his chest. 

“We are gonna have to ask for lube though,” Hajime whispers.

“Oh gods,” Tooru groans, letting his head fall back. “We’re going to make Lev bring us sex stuff.” He shakes his head. “No. No, we can’t do that, he’s like… fifteen.”

“He’s got to be at least sixteen,” Hajime says. “He’s Tobio’s age, right?”

“Eeeeew, noooo, you made it wooooorse,” Tooru whines. “Let’s just have Akaashi bring it.”

“It’s not like anyone’s gonna tell Lev what it is.”

“What else are we going to use lube for? I think even he can figure that out.”

“If you think he knows enough about sex that he can figure it out why can’t he bring it?” Hajime says, just to mess with Tooru.

“Shush,” Tooru says, covering Hajime’s mouth with his hand. “Think of the children, Iwa-chan. The  _ children _ .”

Hajime’s eyes are soft and kind over Tooru’s hand as he watches the way Tooru’s eyes crinkle as he pretends to be horrified but laughs instead. Tooru’s hand drops without thinking and he pulls Hajime down for a kiss, wrapping his arms around him to pull him close, until their bodies are flush, hot and soft against each other. 

-X-

It’s Kenma who comes to visit first. Without a word, he sits on the bed and pats the spot beside him for Tooru to sit as well. Tooru does as he’s told, and Kenma takes out his PSP and turns on a game. Tooru settles into the crook of his shoulder, though it’s a little awkward with their height difference, curious to see what Kenma has in mind.

He’s not really sure that Kenma’s thinking  _ at all _ . 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Hajime says, when he sees that Tooru’s not collapsing in agony. He’s been showering with Tooru awkwardly sitting between his legs lately, since Tooru can’t stand to be alone, and in the slippery tub he can’t really stand alone while Hajime washes off. Tooru nods to tell him it’s alright and keeps watching Kenma play his game.

“How are you doing that,” Tooru says a few minutes in. The silence has left him a little dazed. He can still  _ feel _ Kenma, it’s just… so quiet.

He can feel Kenma slowly piece together his words and get them to organize in his mouth. Tooru never realized it was such a  _ struggle  _ for him. For Tooru, speaking is as easy as breathing, but it seems for Kenma it’s a carefully planned effort. “I’ve played this game a lot. It’s muscle memory,” he says.

“Oh,” Tooru says.

“Anyway, when I’m gaming I phase out pretty well, so I figured you’d be ok,” Kenma says. Tooru can see what he means. Now that he’s drawn his attention out of the game a little, Kenma, and by extension Tooru, is hyperaware of the fact that his shoulder is a little badly angled and his foot itches and it’s just a little too hot and the light is a little too much and… 

“Go back to playing,” Tooru mutters.

Kenma nods and directs all his attention into the simple little game, and it’s quiet again, everything narrowed in on the avatar jumping up and down. It draws Tooru in as well, and it’s the most peaceful things have been since Tooru got here. “Thank you for this,” he murmurs.

“If you recall, I had a bit of your powers for a few hours,” Kenma says, cross. “I know what it’s like.”

“Sorry,” Tooru says sheepishly. “And sorry for throwing you into a wall when you carried me in here.”

Kenma shrugs.

“You know you could probably just talk to me telepathically from now on, if it’s hard for you to talk,” Tooru says.

Kenma’s fingers halt for a moment and the relief that floods him is so immense that Tooru has to wave at him to stop. He wonders just how lonely it must be to be Kenma, unable to speak well or touch at all. How much of Kenma is there that not even Kuroo has figured out? Tooru wraps his arms around his friend’s waist and squeezes hard. 

_ I brought you lube, _ Kenma thinks, amusement flavoring the words. 

“You’re my best friend ever, Kenma,” Tooru mutters into his chest.

Akaashi visits next. His elegant, ordered thoughts are a relief as well, but more than anything, his honesty is what gets Tooru. With Hajime, he feels sometimes as though Hajime is keeping things positive through sheer force of will. They  _ have _ to be alright, Tooru  _ has  _ to get better. It’s a brutal onslaught at moments. 

Unlike Hajime, Akaashi has a strange sort of cynical hopefulness. He doesn’t avoid the thought that Tooru looks undebatably awful. He eyes him, takes in the shitty situation, and determines that he’s going to be fine anyway. “You look slightly better,” he says. “Though only slightly. Is it getting any easier for you to manage your powers?”

Tooru laughs. “I’ve started tuning out a lot of it.”

Akaashi hums. “Well,” he says, looking around the room. He takes it in at face value. To him, it’s a dull, lifeless room, but it’s comfortable. “I’m sure you’re eager to get out of here, but do try to value your progress so far.”

Hajime smiles. He likes Akaashi quite a bit. 

Tooru groans. “I’m so bored in here, Aka-chan,” he whines.

Deep down, Akaashi has resigned himself to the nickname, but he still cocks his eyebrows. “Boredom is a small price to pay for your life, don’t you think?” 

“You’re a despicable know-it-all,” Tooru grumbles, kicking halfheartedly at Hajime when he laughs.

“You should get more people in here. You seem to be alright with the two of us at this point. If you continue to improve at this rate, you could leave the room during the days when everyone is at school soon enough. Stretch your legs, get some fresh air.”

Tooru huffs. “Yeah.”

“Perhaps you should talk to Kageyama-kun and Hinata-kun,” Akaashi says. 

“I’m not sure if I’m insulted you want me to talk to Tobio or overjoyed that you called them stupid for me,” Tooru laughs.

“They… have one-track minds,” Akaashi says carefully. “I’m only saying that Hinata-kun is very good at brightening a person’s day. And Kageyama-kun looks up to you.”

“That’s the problem,” Tooru mutters. Akaashi and Hajime give him similarly confused looks. 

Tooru waves his hand dismissively. It’s hard to explain, after all, to people who think they love you unconditionally that you despise a sixteen year old orphan because at least his parents loved him before they died. That Tobio’s unabashed attachment to Tooru as the only person in the Institute without any relationship with his parents leaves Tooru feeling like a vicious, gnarled creature with its teeth bared in a mixture of jealousy, shame and anger.

“Well, I won’t force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Akaashi says, snapping Tooru out of his sudden slump. “Koutarou and Tetsurou would be glad to visit, though I hear you’ve vetoed Tetsurou.”

“He thinks too much,” Tooru mutters.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Koutarou is as emotional a person as Tetsurou is a thoughtful person, though. Will you be able to handle him?”

“Probably?” Tooru says. “I think it might be nice. He usually says what’s on his mind.”

Akaashi smiles at that. “Yes, that he does.” The way Akaashi loves Koutarou is fundamentally different from but just as strong as the way Hajime loves Tooru, and it’s a boldly happy feeling. Tooru wants more of it. 

“Just invite him over. I promise I’ll say if it’s too much.”

-X-

One thing is for sure, Bokuto is certainly as loud on the inside as he is on the outside. His thoughts are all rooted in his emotions and his instincts, going a mile a minute and bouncing about just like he does. But it is nice to hear and see all of that, to have something physical to tie it all too. 

But more importantly… “You’re like a happiness space heater,” Tooru says, throwing his arms around Bokuto’s waist as he babbles about something or other. It’s embarrassing, but Tooru might burst into tears. 

“Huh?” Bokuto says.

“You just… radiate joy,” Tooru says. Hajime’s forceful hopefulness and Akaashi’s measured determination are nothing compared to this. Tooru doesn’t think he’ll ever manage to be sad or worried again. It’s all been burned out of him by Bokuto’s supernova of a personality.

Bokuto laughs, loud and honest, and it reverberates through his soul and then Tooru’s. “That sounds nice! Is it cheering you up?”

Tooru nods, though he’s definitely come down with the sniffles now. Bokuto just chuckles and throws his arm around Tooru. “You can cry it out, if you want, you’ve probably been pretty stressed lately!”

“Yeah,” Tooru croaks, and cries as Bokuto rocks him without noticing he’s doing it, totally by reflex. It’s like he was built to make other people happy. “Oh, gods, I’m never letting you go.”

“I’ll want him back eventually,” Akaashi says. Hajime chuckles. They’ve been silently appreciating Tooru and Bokuto from afar. 

“You have two other boyfriends,” Tooru whines, sniffling. “I need this one.”

“That’s also my favorite boyfriend and I need him too,” Akaashi says.

“Besides, you’d probably get really overwhelmed by my moodswings,” Bokuto volunteers, to keep the peace just in case he’s reading the situation wrong and Akaashi really is jealous. He is not.

“I’m overwhelmed now, you’re a really loud person,” Tooru says. “But it’s so good.”

“Yeah, you’re making your headache face,” Hajime says. Tooru’s head isn’t hurting, but Hajime’s right. It’s getting there. “Thirty more minutes, alright?”

“Can he come back tomorrow?” Tooru asks, unwilling to let go of his 80 kilogram pillow of concentrated joy.

“Sure, I don’t have many classes,” Bokuto says. “And I don’t mind! It’s really good to see you’re ok! Kinda sick looking, but you’ll get better soon, I’m sure of it.” Hell, he’s so sure of it, Tooru might be too. 

-X-

Tooru is starting to think that a daily dose of Bokuto Koutarou might be enough to cure cancer. It takes Tooru a while to adjust to the noise, but the steady stream of honest encouragement he gets in return is enough to get him through the grueling monotony of practicing something he can only really do instinctually instead of consciously, at his own pace.

Kuroo comes to visit after Tooru can manage Bokuto, Akaashi and Kenma at once, and Tooru nearly sends him out. He’s trying to not think, which, for Kuroo, means that he’s overthinking how to not think, and even that is a fragile screen pull over how terrified he’s been for Tooru. Tooru’s touched, deeply, even as he shoves Kuroo back at Lev and tells him to come back later. But Tooru manages it eventually, first just twenty minutes at a time, then a few hours. 

Hell, he even manages Kuroo and Bokuto together, though they’re like some kind of unholy combination of too much thinking and too much emotion that caught on fire and fell in love with itself all at once. The first time they come together, Tooru gets a nosebleed and can’t manage anyone but Hajime for three days.

It’s certainly not easy. Tooru finishes each day exhausted and sometimes with a killer headache, but he can feel himself improving and it takes his mind off of the isolation room. It makes the evenings feel especially peaceful, in the quiet with Hajime, watching movies or, if Tooru has slightly more energy on a given day, having sex. 

Eventually, Tooru manages to get the hang of it well enough to get to the ultimate challenge: going outside.

They have to wait for a day when there’s almost no one home, including Suga’s bewildering emotional echo. Akaashi stays at home to keep Tooru from panicking and sending his range flying into the city again, but otherwise there’s only three people left in the Institute.

Hajime eases open the door slowly, watching him expectantly. “Everything alright?”

Tooru can immediately feel everyone in the house. McCoy, in the lab, pondering some experiment. Ukai, in the kitchen, making dinner. Lev, upstairs, watching TV. It’s a lot and it makes him feel shaky, but Tooru still feels fairly alright. He nods carefully. “I think I’m ok,” he says.

“Alright, take it slow,” Hajime says. 

He glances at Akaashi, who nods. “Don’t forget to tell me if you need me to help you stay calm.”

“Actually,” Tooru says weakly. “If you can just keep up a tiny bit of pheromones going until I’m outside? I’m pretty queasy.”

Akaashi smiles and nods. Hajime helps Tooru to his feet, one hand protectively on Tooru’s waist. “You sure?”

“Yes, please,” Tooru says. Hajime pulls him down for a kiss and steers him out the door. It’s only a little bit more intense now that he’s out of the room entirely, but at least it feels more natural, less sickening to sense people. 

They take their time walking down the hall. Tooru hadn’t noticed how much his legs were quaking until now, a mixture of disuse and the sickness of the past few weeks. When they get to the stairs, he stumbles, and Akaashi comes up beside him to sooth away the worry and to support his other arm. He and Hajime get Tooru up the stairs one by one.

The sunlight is soft in the livingroom, the trees swaying outside the windows and the furniture softly colored under the resulting ripples. “I want to go outside,” he says, feeling his voice crack a little with the relief. “Please, can we?”

“Sure we can,” Hajime says, and he helps Tooru stumble out the back door and into the yard, where he sits next to the wrecked fountain. The grass is just a little damp under him, the sunlight warm around him. 

He lays back into the grass and laughs. “Sunshine. Fresh air,” he croaks, a hysterical giggle leaving his throat. He stretches out his arms and legs as far as he can, closing his eyes and breathing in the fresh air. “Oh, I missed them.”

Hajime sits beside him, content to watch Tooru revel in his freedom. “Let me know when it’s too much,” he says.

“Let’s just pitch a tent somewhere, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says. 

“Your range is wider than the grounds of the Institute,” Akaashi volunteers.

“I don’t mean here,” Tooru whines. “I mean we should run away into the woods somewhere, where no one will find us.”

“Yeah, and how would we watch movies then, huh? You’d be whining and crying after one day without a shower,” Hajime says, pinching Tooru’s nose. 

Tooru snorts into his fingers, producing a gloriously hideous sound. “Then you’ll just have to build us a cabin in the woods, Iwa-chan,” he says.

“By the time I do that you’ll get a hang of your powers anyway. Besides, I can’t leave you alone.”

“Stop ruining my fantasy, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime leans down and kisses him. “You look good. One more week in the isolation room and if you can’t come out after that, we’re going to find you a cabin in the woods, alright?”

“We’ll be visiting you more often so you can get the hang of it,” Akaashi adds. “So you won’t be as bored either.”

“Just enjoy the day,” Hajime says, rubbing his belly gently. Tooru hums and smiles up at the sky. Inside, everyone goes about their business, and it’s surprisingly easy to tune them out by breathing in the morning air and listening to Hajime and Akaashi’s thoughts. Hajime watches the way Tooru’s hair flutters in the breeze in a fond lull. Akaashi contemplates the arches of the Institute’s windows. 

Akaashi goes inside to get them lunch and a blanket to sit on while they eat, and then grabs Tooru a jacket and a few books from their room as well. Tooru thanks him gently and lays back onto Hajime as he reads. 

The first few people coming back home aren’t so bad. A little noisy, but Tooru focuses on Hajime’s breathing until their thoughts fade into the background, but once the afternoon grows golden and the house is nearly full, it gets to be a clamoring, vibrating roar. Tooru groans and tugs on Hajime’s sleeve. “It’s time,” he says. His head twinges a little and he nearly panics before Akaashi’s hand settles on his forearm, his fingers soothing and cool.

They help him downstairs, and though he’s dizzy and exhausted by the time Hajime says goodbye to Akaashi and closes the door, ushering in blessed silence, he feels like maybe he could figure out how to tune out the whole house if he could just practice without the headache.

“I can do this in one week,” he informs Hajime. “Just let me out every morning and let me get used to people coming home.”

Hajime smiles. “It’s not a challenge.”

“Yes it is,” Tooru says with a grin. “It is and I accept.”

“Idiot,” Hajime says fondly.

“Please get my pain medication for me,” Tooru says. “I want to knock this headache out before it gets any ideas.”

Hajime laughs at that and brings Tooru his medication and water.

-X-

It ends up taking nine days.

Each day he can stay outside a little longer before that little twinge indicates it’s time to give up for the day. He wants desperately to push a little harder, maybe stay outside until it hurts, but just this once Tooru wants to do this without taking a few years off of Hajime’s life with worry. He tries to make it part of the challenge.  _ Learn to deal with telepathy without a headache in one week _ .

On the seventh day, he has to give up once Shimizu gets off a late shift and gets home with Suga. Hajime grins at him. “Well, off to the woods it is,” he says, once they’re alone in the isolation room again.

“I’m so close, Iwa-chan,” Tooru whines. “So close!”

“Nope,” Hajime says, fake sweet. “Too late, sweetheart, you’ve got to live in the wild with me for the rest of your life.” He pulls Tooru up into his arms and swings him around a little.

Tooru wails theatrically. “Whisked away by a wild Neanderthal! Oh, the horror!”

Hajime drops him on the bed and leans over him with a wolfish grin. “Poor, sweet Tooru, kidnapped and corrupted by a savage.”

“Hm,” Tooru says, tilting his head challengingly and trying to make it look like a swoon. “I’m not sure I’ve been corrupted enough, I still feel so delicate. Perhaps you should ruin my fragile sensibilities a little more”

That makes Hajime laugh, loud and braying. “I’m gonna shove your  _ fragile sensibilities  _ up your ass, you little shit,” he growls.

“Oh, such brutal language is too much for an innocent flower like meee,” Tooru warbles, until Hajime shuts him up with a few  _ very  _ strategically placed kisses.

-X-

By the ninth day, he can make it until the youngest residents have gotten to bed, and that makes it bearable. Dreams are muffled, like something several rooms over. He can sense them if he tries, but they’re not overwhelming. He grins at Hajime. “I think I’ll be ok from here,” he says.

“Ready to try it inside?” Hajime asks softly.

Tooru’s nose scrunches up at that. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Hajime laughs. “Alright. Back to the isolation room?”

“Ugh,” Tooru spits. “Yes. I guess.”

It takes another horrible three days for Tooru to be able to handle all day inside. He giggles at Hajime when he does. “Iwa-chan,” he whispers. “I’m gonna sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“Yeah, you are,” Hajime laughs, kissing his forehead. “You’re incredible. I’m so proud of you.” He means it, too, and that washes over Tooru like a shower of stardust.

“It wasn’t such a big deal,” Tooru whispers. “It’s just strange, hearing people’s thoughts, but it’s not…”

“Accept the compliment,” Hajime says severely, but his thoughts are still so gentle that Tooru might break if he hears them one more time. 

“Alright,” Tooru murmurs.

They go upstairs, where Kenma is playing with his Gameboy and Akaashi is reading his book. It’s so painfully as it should be and Tooru has missed it so much that he breaks down crying the moment he gets in the door. Akaashi is beside him in a few long strides. Kenma keeps his distance, but Tooru can feel his gentle reassurance from his spot on the bed as Akaashi pulls him into a hug.

Hajime rubs his back and Akaashi cradles his head until he catches his breath. “It’s so good to be back in my room,” Tooru says. “And to not be scared of dying. And not be in pain, and…”

“I know,” Akaashi says, shushing him softly. “I know.”

Tooru brings up his hand to wipe his nose before he gets snot all over Akaashi’s sweater. He can feel that Akaashi couldn’t care less, but it’s one of Akaashi’s favorites, one of the few sweaters actually big enough to swamp Akaashi, who is by no means a small person, and which has three owls on it. 

He tumbles back onto his bed and the relief hits him like a truck. He has to twist around to bury his face in his covers. “Oh, gods,” he moans. “It’s my bed. Oh, I missed it so muuuuch.”

“Do you need a moment alone,” Kenma says, but his own immense relief isn’t lost on Tooru.

“You missed me,” he croons, grinning at Kenma.

Kenma blushes and looks away. “Did not.”  _ I did. You really scared me,  _ he thinks.

Tooru smiles at him softly, nodding so that Kenma knows he got the message. He needs to figure out how to answer telepathically. He stretches out on his bed. “I’m never going to get out of this bed again.”

“You’ll get just as bored as in the isolation room,” Akaashi volunteers.

“Why can’t you just let me live my dreams, Aka-chan,” Tooru whines. Akaashi cocks an indifferent brow at him, but underneath it he’s no less happy to see Tooru back in their little room than Kenma.

Hajime snuggles up beside him. Now that the worst of the crisis is over, it seems to be hitting him how worried he’s been. Tooru curls an arm around him silently. “It’s going to be alright now, Iwa-chan,” he whispers. Hajime lets out a small, muffled sound in response. “Stay. Get some rest. I’m here.”

Hajime nods and snuggles closer. 

Tooru stays up a little longer, reading by the light of his lamp. He likes this light better than that of the isolation room, somehow. He keeps reading until nearly everyone else is asleep, and takes a moment to relish this new quiet. Not the silence of the isolation room, but a faint, languid pool of dreams and the odd musings of the last few night owls. Hajime is warm beside him, dreams inundated with Tooru’s scent. 

There’s only the faintest disturbance in it all.

Something… off.

Different.

Layered, perhaps, or scattered. A mind different from the rest.

Tooru untangles himself from Hajime carefully so he doesn’t wake him when he kneels on the bed and looks out the window.

Ushijima looks back.

_ Interesting _ , he thinks.  _ He was stronger than I thought _ . Tooru’s heart beats a mile a minute, but there’s something serene about the entire scene. There’s nothing evil in Ushijima, just a sense of unyielding nobility that had the misfortune of being rooted in something darker. Still, something is  _ off  _ about him, something that makes Tooru’s skin crawl.

And he  _ wants _ Tooru. For what, Tooru can’t make out. But now there’s no doubt he knows that Tooru is still alive and that he’s going to stay that way, and Tooru can tell that Ushijima is the sort of man who tends to get what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no.
> 
> Next week: Picture a terrible thing that could happen. It probably happens. Crying. Fighting. Other... bad things...
> 
> But on the bright side if you're a fan of the Shiratorizawa boys! There is good news for you!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah,” Hajime mutters. He lays there, still trying to combat the worries and negative thoughts he’s kept in check for Tooru these past few weeks, but without a real reason to keep them at bay, it’s a losing fight. Tooru hugs him closer, and that eases the first sob out of Hajime. “Gods, if I had put you in the isolation room you might have been dead by now.”
> 
> “But you didn’t,” Tooru whispers, rubbing his cheek against the top of Hajime’s head. “You were so good, you figured out what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early for no reason except that I am about to have the most hellish day and need the encouragement I get from comments. I will be back on Wednesday next week. Hopefully no one minds. :)
> 
> Content warning for panic attacks and mentions of prostitution/sexual trafficking, though they're not particularly detailed.

The morning rush is an awful thing to wake up to. Everyone is frantically going over their plans and for the day, unknowingly making Tooru’s only plan for the day to get rid of the resulting headache. He groans. Pulling a pillow over his head has no effect except waking up Hajime. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey, you alright? You need to go downstairs?”

Tooru shakes his head. “By the time we get down there, they’ll have left already,” he mumbles through the cotton over his face. “Just get me my medication, please.”

“Alright,” Hajime says, stroking his back and kissing his neck before leaving the bed.

The medication knocks him out for another hour and a half, during which everyone finally leaves the house to blissful silence. He yawns, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Hajime is typing an email to Dr. McTaggert, detailing the effectiveness of his method thus far. He’s still a little tightly wound, the panic of possibly losing Tooru just now hitting him.

Tooru slips out of bed and kisses up his neck playfully. Hajime smiles, relaxing a little. Tooru smiles at him over his shoulder. “I want to make breakfast,” Tooru says. “What do you want?”

“If it’s with you, I’ll eat anything,” Hajime says.

“Raw beetles for breakfast it is, then,” Tooru says cheerily, pushing himself away. Hajime rolls his eyes behind him. He can still feel the bone deep exhaustion his powers caused, so he waits for Hajime to catch up before attempting the stairs. It’s a good call. His legs quiver after the first two steps, and Hajime has to help him down.

“Sit down,” Hajime says, pulling him away from the fridge. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Tooru whines, crossing his arms on the counter and balancing his chin on them. “I’m tired of being an invalid! I want to take care of Iwa-chan finally!”

“Take care of yourself first,” Hajime says, gathering the various ingredients from the fridge onto the counter. “I’m fine.”

“Please,” Tooru says. “Now that the worst is over, it’s dawned on you how close you came to losing me and you’re freaking out.”

Hajime cracks an egg with one hand. It surges up in him, that fear. He wants to deny it, so he can throw himself into taking care of Tooru, but he knows from Tooru’s quick eyebrow quirk that he can’t. “Alright, fine, yeah,” he says. “A little. But I think we’re… you’re going to be fine now, so… It’s alright. I’ll get over it.”

Tooru sighs and hobbles over, taking the food from Hajime’s shaking hands. “ _ You  _ sit down,” he says with a huff. “I’m just a little tired, making breakfast isn’t going to k…” He can’t say that, not now. “...cause any damage.”

The drive to argue is balancing at the tip of Hajime’s tongue, but he sighs and backs down. “Fine,” he mutters. “Do what you want. Just don’t push it, alright?”

“I am trying to make your life easier right now, Iwa-chan,” Tooru reminds him. “So I’ll be super-duper-extra honest with you.”  _ About everything but Ushijima, because there’s no way you could stop him but I’m scared you’ll try,  _ he doesn’t add.

“That’ll be the day,” Hajime mutters, but Tooru can feel him concede in his thoughts that Tooru has been better at it. Tooru tries not to feel guilty about that. He’s going to tell Kenma, after all.

Tooru sets to work making the best breakfast he can, but Hajime is quiet beside him, and boredom hits halfway through. Tooru bites his lip and reaches out for a spoon on the table, trying to draw it to himself with telekinesis. The spoon quivers for just a moment, then stays still. He can feel the warning on Hajime’s lips,  _ Don’t strain yourself, _ and he almost answers before the words are even out, but instead the spoon snaps into his face while he’s distracted. 

“Ow,” he whines, bending over to rub at his eye where the spoon hit him. It had hit him pretty hard.

Hajime rounds the table to take a look at it. “Dumbass.” He opens the freezer and searches until he finds a bag of frozen peas. “Practice with something soft, if you’re going to practice.”

He presses the bag to Tooru’s eye, ignoring the offended hissing he gets in return. “That’s really cold.”

“It’ll stop it from swelling.”

“I barely hit it.”

Hajime ignores him, pressing the bag to Tooru’s face. He feels off and upset, and Tooru wants to say something comforting, but nothing comes to him. Hajime makes him take over the icing and finishes breakfast for them.

They eat breakfast in silence, but Tooru can feel Hajime’s thoughts slowing down, unable to shake the thought that he could have lost Tooru. Tooru does the dishes, then takes Hajime’s wrist in hand and drags him to the living room, collapsing onto the sofa and patting his lap. Hajime blinks at him. “What?” he asks.

“You did an excellent job of getting me through this,” Tooru says. “But now rest a little.”

Hajime doesn’t move. There’s something in him that’s reluctant to sit in Tooru’s lap, not because he thinks it’s demeaning, but because he feels that being the one to hold Tooru in gentle ways is his responsibility, and if he relents and lets it happen the other way around, what if Tooru doesn’t trust him to take care of him anymore?

“I’ll always trust you,” Tooru says softly. “You saved my life, now just let go for a moment, will you? We can both take care of each other, it’s not all on you.”

That wrings a wet snort out of Hajime. “Guess it’s pretty hypocritical of me to tell you things are a team effort and then decide you can’t take care of me like I take care of you.”

“Yes.” Tooru extends his arms and wriggles his fingers. “You’re my boyfriend, not a parent. Let Oikawa-san cuddle you.”

“Don’t make this weird.” He clambers into Tooru’s lap, stretching his legs out on the sofa and letting Tooru wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull his face into the crook of Tooru’s shoulder. He’s quiet for a moment, taking in the position slowly. “I feel small,” he decides finally.

That’s the perfect opportunity for a joke, but Tooru can feel Hajime’s heart quiver, wobbling over a delayed breaking point. “But in a good way, right?” Tooru whispers.

“Yeah,” Hajime mutters. He lays there, still trying to combat the worries and negative thoughts he’s kept in check for Tooru these past few weeks, but without a real reason to keep them at bay, it’s a losing fight. Tooru hugs him closer, and that eases the first sob out of Hajime. “Gods, if I had put you in the isolation room you might have been dead by now.”

“But you didn’t,” Tooru whispers, rubbing his cheek against the top of Hajime’s head. “You were so good, you figured out what to do.”

Hajime brings a hand to his mouth to muffle the sobs. He’s shaking and sniffling and curling into Tooru like a small child. Tooru doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hajime cry like this, but it seems like something he needs, so even though it hurts to see it, Tooru waits it out, shushing gently and stroking Hajime’s head and shoulders. “It’s alright now, I’m going to be alright,” he whispers.

Hajime cries until he’s unable to cry anymore. Tooru can’t feel his legs. It’s been at least an hour of crying, off and on. Even now, Hajime stops crying in halting, hiccuping increments. He rubs at his eyes desperately. “Sorry,” he croaks. “Sorry, I don’t know why I lost it now.”

“Because you were amazing and didn’t lose it while you needed to support me,” Tooru says.

“Yeah,” Hajime murmurs. “Ok. Fair enough.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tooru says with a smile. “It was nice to hold you like this.”

“We should switch things up more often,”  Hajime offers.

Tooru laughs. “If only I weren’t such a hot mess,” he says. He rubs his cheek over Hajime’s spiky hair. “I like being spoiled by you, but I’ll spoil you whenever you want, too.”

Hajime grins. “So selfless,” he teases.

“Please, Hajime, I know my saint-like personality is hard to take in all at once, but don’t flatter me,” Tooru says. “You--”  He cuts off suddenly, his sentence forgotten. It takes him a moment to sift through what disturbed him. There’s a few people at home, coming and going, and… 

Hajime sits up, on edge. “What?” he asks. “Are you hurting?”

“Hm?” Tooru says. It’s hard to balance sensing thoughts and sensing actual sounds at once. He’ll have to practice that. “No, sorry. I think something’s wrong with Akaashi.” He pushes Hajime off carefully. “Hold on.”

He catches Akaashi as he comes down the stairs. He called it right. Akaashi’s thoughts are jumbled and hard to make out, tinged with a horrified panic. 

“Everything alright, Aka-chan?” Tooru asks. Hajime is bewildered beside him, with good reason, since Akaashi is as collected as ever outwardly.

“Fine,” Akaashi says, with a forced evenness. “Is something wrong?”

“Is it?” Tooru asks softly. “You’re shaking.”

Akaashi bristles, but the panic flooding him doesn’t abate. “I’m fine. I’m going to Koutarou’s.”

“You’re on the verge of a panic attack. You should sit. Bokuto can come here.”

Akaashi holds his gaze. His fear is enough to give Tooru a headache, but his gaze is sharp and unwavering. It’s impressive and a little scary. Finally, he deflates. “You’re right.” He collapses onto the stairs, his arms falling over his knees as he lowers his head and tries to regulate his breathing.

“I’ll call Bokuto,” Hajime says quietly. He looks up at Tooru.  _ I’ll leave you guys alone. _ Tooru nods.

“What happened, Aka-chan?” Tooru asks, sitting beside Akaashi.

“The… that doctor was on TV again. I got his name and looked him up. I wanted to know who he was.” Akaashi shakes his head. He doesn’t understand why he’d want to know, but Tooru can see where one might have a morbid curiosity in that kind of situation. Akaashi lets out a long breath and drags another in. It seems to be helping to talk it out. 

“Anyway. He has a regular practice, and I suppose he was on TV because his office was damaged in the explosion… probably because of his own experiments, but…” he laughs, a hollow. “There was a picture of him at a charity dinner and…” He covers his eyes with a strangled giggle, and Tooru wishes he could tune out thoughts better, because it’s not just the picture that flashes through Akaashi’s mind, the doctor and a few older men.

“He knew them,” Akaashi breathes, clamping his hands over his eyes. “Every man that payed me for… for…” Tooru nods. He knows. He’s seen more than he should have. “He knew every one of them, probably sent them my way.” He laughs, but it sounds more like terror. “Two of them were suspected of involvement in sex trafficking. S-sex tra-trafficking.”

They sit quietly for a while. 

“I thought… at least… at least it was my way out, but it was just him toying with me before he handed me off to one of them,” Akaashi murmurs. “If it weren’t for Koutarou…”

“I’m so sorry,” Tooru murmurs. “I’m so sorry all of that happened to you.”

Akaashi nods slowly, staring at the wall in front of them. He’s numb in a concerning way. 

“Can I touch you?” Tooru asks.

“Please,” Akaashi croaks. 

Tooru throws an arm around him, tugging him close and shaking him a little. “It’s over now. You’re safe here. Bokuto will be here soon. It’s ok.”

Relief and warmth spread back into Akaashi’s body. He smiles. He’s still a little panicky, and the slowly healing scars that line his mind aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, but he knows how to find comfort for himself, and that’s the important part. “Thank you, Oikawa-san,” he says. “I hope I didn’t set you off this time.”

Tooru shakes his head. “No. Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he says, throwing up an OK sign. His hands are quivering ever so slightly. “Ah. A little shaky, but I think I just caught your nerves. No harm done. Just relax.”

Akaashi nods, taking a deep breath. They sit in silence until Bokuto comes skidding into the room, tumbling into Akaashi’s lap before he and Tooru can even register his arrival. “I heard you were feeling bad!” he cries, much too loud on every front, limbs flying.

“Koutarou, calm down!” Akaashi says, laughing a little when Bokuto nearly elbows him in the face in an attempt to hug him. 

“I’ve got you now,” he declares, managing to pull Akaashi into a clumsy hug with a childish sense of determination. Akaashi’s hands settle on his back and hold on tight. 

Tooru smiles and leaves them to it, instead finding Hajime. “Let’s go for a walk,” he says. “I need to stretch my legs finally.”

“Sure,” Hajime says. “Let me get my jacket.”

The fresh air is as nice as usual, but this is the first time Tooru’s been outside and able to focus on anything but laying down and tuning out everyone’s thoughts since his first attack. It feels good to just walk. The grounds of the Institute might be the largest patch of green this close to the city, neatly trimmed and watered. 

There’s also an insanely powerful security system threaded throughout, just in case. As far as Tooru knows, there’s been harder times at the Institute, times when the rivalry between the Professor and Nekomata wasn’t as friendly as it is now. They don’t speak of it these days, and Tooru has always been too uncomfortable around the Professor to ask.

Now, though, it lets Tooru feel better about Ushijima. The fact that he made it over the fence at night, when security is highest, is frightening, but Tooru knows how to trip the security system quickly out here, as well as how to evade it after. 

There’s a comfortable silence between them. There’s not much to talk about after having spent weeks with each other in one room, but somehow Tooru is relieved that they’re still getting along so well after being cooped up together. He’s always felt, just a little, that narrowing the small distance between them any more will end up with Hajime getting fed up with him.

Maybe, when they’ve figured out what to do with the Ushijima situation, they could move in together. Share a room, pick out sheets and dishes together, develop their own domestic rituals… 

The thought warms him and frightens him all at once. Maybe he’ll bring it up a little later.

When they get back, Akaashi and Bokuto are laughing at the dinner table again. Bokuto’s arm is around Akaashi’s in a vaguely protective gesture. They’re both content, feeling safe. Bokuto straightens up a little when he sees Tooru. “Oh,” he says. “Hey. Listen, I’m pretty sure I saw Ushijima on the way here.”

“What?” Akaashi snaps. “Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course. He just walked past me. I don’t think he knows who I am,” Bokuto says. For some reason he’s kind of insulted by that. “But I thought Oikawa should probably know.”

Tooru tries not to look at Hajime. “Uh… yeah. Thanks, but it’s not the first time he was hovering around here.”

“He’s checking to see if you’re alive, right?” Hajime says, hopefully. “Maybe if you stay inside and…”

_ Shit. _ Tooru sighs. There’s no point in hiding it now. “He already knows I’m alive,” Tooru murmurs. “We… saw each other last night. He knows I’m not dying.”

“Are you certain?” Akaashi asks. “Perhaps he…”

“I read his mind. He knows.”

It’s too silent. Hajime is explicitly blank beside him. “Can we talk,” he says, in a manner that is not a question. Tooru nods and lets Hajime yank him out of the room by his elbow, followed by the worried gazes of Akaashi and Bokuto.

“What the hell,” Hajime starts, when they’re out of hearing range. “Why didn’t you tell me? Wake me up?”

“What would you have done?” Tooru asks.

Hajime scoffs and leans back. “What would I…” he echoes. “That’s not the point!”

“From Tetsu-chan’s story, he’s unnaturally strong, you wouldn’t be able to do anything against him,” Tooru says. “I was scared you’d try, though.”

“What, you thought I was going to go outside and fist fight the guy in the middle of the night?” Hajime says, voice teetering on the edge of yelling.

“I just…” Tooru croaks. “I didn’t see the point of worrying you right after everything.”

“Oh, and I guess you  _ lying _ to me  _ again _ isn’t worrisome  _ at all _ ,” Hajime grits out. Tooru wishes he could shut out the hurt he feels curling off of Hajime in waves. He sighs and puts his hands on his hips. “Whatever. I guess… I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I just… I always think we’re past this, and you’re going to just… trust me…”

“I do trust you,” Tooru whispers.

“Yeah. Mostly. And then you get scared and pull away. Over and over and over again.” He shakes his head. “I know. I get it. But sometimes it’s really, really exhausting.”

Tooru wants to say more, but everything seems to be caught in his throat.

“Whatever,” Hajime says, turning his back.

“Where are you going?” Tooru asks, panic shooting through him.

“To my room,” Hajime says. “I’m going to pack a bag and come over. I don’t give a shit if it scares you, I’m staying over until Ushijima’s dealt with.” He turns back around to glare at Tooru. “And maybe on the way I’ll calm down about…” He waves his hands awkwardly at Tooru. “...this.”   

“I’m sorry,” Tooru mutters.

“I know,” Hajime sighs, and storms out, leaving Tooru feeling scraped raw and sucked empty.

Akaashi and Bokuto are sitting in the kitchen in the picture of innocence. “Even if I couldn’t read minds,” Tooru sighs, “it would still be obvious you two were eavesdropping.”

“We would never,” Akaashi says, while Bokuto grins apologetically.

-X-

Hajime returns surprisingly quickly with a duffel pulled over his shoulder. “Can we talk outside?” he asks. His thoughts are hard to read, as though he’s intentionally trying to disguise all but a few thoughts, but it’s clear he’s still upset.

“Yeah, sure,” Tooru says. He hates feeling so meek, but he’ll do anything to stop Hajime from feeling so hurt.

They walk outside, a bit further from the house. “Maybe we should break up,” Hajime says.

Tooru’s heart stops in time with his feet. He turns around, mouth feeling like cotton. “What?” he croaks.

“Just… until you’ve dealt with your trust issues,” Hajime says. He’s pointedly not thinking anything, and Tooru is going to go crazy from it.

“No,” Tooru croaks with what little breath hasn’t been stolen from him. “No, I swear, I… I won’t ever keep anything from you again, just…”

Hajime sighs, looking up at the sky. “You can’t keep that promise.”

“I can!” Tooru protests, though it sounds like pleading. He’s almost ready to fall to his knees. He can’t lose Hajime, not even temporarily, not ever… 

“It’s not just the lying and the secrets, though,” Hajime says. “It’s the whole… everything. Not wanting me to visit too often, not wanting to move in with me...”

“I’ll move in with you!” Tooru blurts. “As soon as possible. I already got over you coming here, I can… I can. I’ll go anywhere with you.”

Hajime looks back at him. “Then let’s go. Right now. We’ll find a place, you and me.”

Tooru pauses at that. “What?” 

Hajime takes his shoulders, but his grip is rougher than usual, his eyes drilling through Tooru. “You don’t even need to pack a bag. I’ve got all the clothes you left over at my place, and we don’t need anything else but each other.”

“What about Ushijima?” Tooru whispers, trying to shrug Hajime’s hands off without alerting him to his thudding heart. The only thoughts he can make out in Hajime’s mind right now feel fake, like he’s being fed specific thoughts that make all this credible.

“We’ll leave before he even knows it. Leave everything behind. He’ll never find us.” Really,  _ I think we should break up _ is the ideal sentence to throw Tooru off, make sure he’s not thinking straight. Hajime wouldn’t have started with that. “Come with me, Tooru.” There’s none of the warmth that Hajime emits like a beacon whenever he looks at Tooru.

There’s a hungry glint in his eyes, and Tooru can’t twist his shoulder away. “Just let me…” he whispers. “... let me say goodbye, and then we’ll go.”

Hajime, who is definitely not Hajime, sighs, face twisting into a smirk that looks bizarre on Hajime’s face. The facade flickers for a moment, like a glitch in a video. Whatever, whoever is behind it is a lot taller and a lot scarier than Hajime. “Dammit, you’re smarter than you look.”

Someone else’s hands come up behind him before Tooru can react, pressing a hand tightly over his mouth and pinching his nose shut, arm around his throat putting him into a chokehold. He struggles desperately, trying to get an elbow or a psychic blast in before his air runs out, but he only has time to hear a rushed, “Just make sure no one sees, Satori,” before things go fuzzy and then black.

-X-

Tooru wakes to the most terrifying set of sensations he’s ever felt, including his telepathic attack. His head is fuzzy. He’s probably been drugged, that much he can tell. There’s a cold ring around his neck, brittle and sizzling with something. There’s the horrible, uncanny “silence” he remembers from the isolation room without Hajime, and it makes his fuzzy head throb with his heartbeat, barreling towards a migraine. He tries to whimper, but his voice isn’t working. Nothing is working. He can’t move.

He’s fairly certain he’s on a bed, but his head is tilted so he can only see a wall and maybe the edge of a shelf. The lighting is dark, almost intimate. He can’t turn his head to see, but there are voices to his right.

“It doesn’t need to be on the highest setting,” someone says, someone with a deep, sharp voice. “We’re not trying to be cruel to him.”

“I understand you’re sensitive about the issue…” says another, cold and analytical. He’s cut off by a growl and a  _ you little… _ and Tooru has a feeling the following sounds might be the sounds of someone trying to get into a scuffle.

Tooru tries to look their direction, but he can’t see anything but the ceiling from the corner of his eyes. He can feel the tears rising, his breath speeding up. He has no idea where he is, he can’t move… why can’t he move? He steels himself. No. He’s not going to panic, not in front of a bunch of kidnappers.

“… I didn’t mean to upset you. All I’m saying is that he’s more powerful than all of us put together. We can’t risk him getting the upper hand just because you feel sorry for him.”

“I could handle him,” says a third voice, young and brash.

“Don’t interrupt. And no, you couldn’t,” says Cold. There’s a chorus of vaguely offended noises.

“Now, now, Tsutomu, you could win in a fair fight, it’s just overpowered cheaters like that one who are a problem,” says another voice, sing-song. It sounds familiar somehow, though Tooru can’t recall where he might have heard it. 

“No one’s questioning your abilities,” Sharp says offhandedly. He continues, addressing someone else directly. “This has nothing to do with my history. Tormenting him won’t help us.”

“He’s awake,” says a voice, and it might be a comforting voice if it were in better circumstances. A face looms into his vision, a soft brown hand settling on his shoulder. Tooru struggles not to feel relaxed by the gentle gesture. “At the very least we can allow him some movement. We don’t want to frighten him.”

“ _ I _ want to,” Sing-song murmurs.

“Don’t be such a creep, Satori,” Sharp scolds.

Mr. Comforting reaches for the thing around his neck, and with a few nudges, Tooru is able to move his limbs a little. He immediately tries to make a run for it, but he doesn’t get far before his legs give out. He might be able to move, but only weakly. He tries to crawl, but Mr. Comforting just pulls him back by his waist. “I’m afraid we can’t let you leave,” he murmurs, pushing Tooru back into the bed. “Not until Ushijima-san says we should. But we won’t harm you.”

He cups Tooru’s head in his hand, and as reluctant as Tooru was at the thought of panicking and crying in front of his captors before, he wants the feeling back. He shouldn’t be slumping back into the bed, relaxing at the touch of a stranger who has kidnapped him, but he is. He tries to fight it, but it feels  _ so soothing. _

“He’s not a kitten, Reon,” the grating voice, Satori says. “Don’t pamper him.”

“He’s not hurting anyone with it,” Sharp says.

Reon pulls away. Tooru misses the warmth of his hand, and  _ what is wrong with him _ . “My name is Ohira Reon,” he says. He helps Tooru sit up ever so slightly to see the rest of the room. It’s a nice room, like some kind of fancy hotel. 

“That is Tendou Satori.” He points to a lanky redhead leaning over the bed, staring at Tooru like some kind of horror villain might at a hapless victim. His entire being is  _ wrong _ somehow. Tooru can’t tell if it’s his appearance or his movements, but he looks like something that was cut straight out of a bad movie, his motions choppy and swaying, his face teetering on a wicked smile. Sometimes he seems to flicker a little, like a staticky animation. A little of the fear creeps back, and the satisfied look he gets when Tendou sees him crawl back a little makes Tooru sick.

“Semi Eita,” Ohira continues, pointing. The man in question grunts dismissively. He was the one with the sharp voice, and the cold one must be the shorter man beside him, because Semi is currently still glaring at him. “That’s Shirabu Kenjirou.” The shorter one that Semi is glaring at raises a hand in a little wave. “And Goshiki Tsutomu.” The fourth man, or rather boy, puffs himself up, his black hair fluffing up with him like an aggressive bird of some kind.

“If the inhibitor collar causes any damage, Ushijima won’t be happy,” Semi says, clearly itching to continue his argument. 

“Wakatoshi-kun will already be disappointed in us,” Tendou says, patting Tooru’s foot. Tooru pulls away, his skin crawling. Tendou smiles at the motion. “He’s far too noble.”

“He won’t just be disappointed if we harm the first stable telepath he’s found in years…” Semi begins, but he trails off, starting and looking at something else in the corner.

Tooru struggles to sit up onto his elbows to see what caught his attention. 

Ushijima is much more imposing when he stands in the doorway, illuminated by the dim light of the room. It’s not just his size, though that too is impressive. It’s a sort of aura, a forceful presence that towers over him. His face is impassive, but his eyes are on fire, in a way, fixed on Tooru like they could carve him apart. They glow in the dim light, giving Ushijima a demonic look as he stares down at Tooru.

The strange calm that Ohira managed to pull over Tooru disappears. At the sight of Ushijima, there is no doubt that Tooru’s fear has returned full force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves a Shiratorizawa flag* You guys have no idea how intensely I was waiting for Tendou Satori to show up finally. 
> 
> Next week: Ushijima tries to be noble. Tendou does no such thing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You must understand,” Ushijima says finally, looking at Tooru again. “My father was a man with a great legacy, but a legacy that has been tainted. Now that it is left to me to carry on that legacy, it is my duty to cleanse it. As a dead branch must be trimmed to keep the tree healthy, so too, must the evils of this legacy be extinguished. This is what I require your help for.”
> 
> Tooru laughs so hard he nearly has to spit out his food. “My help? You want my help?” he asks. “Ushiwaka-chan, I wouldn’t help you put out the flames if you were on fire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS OH MY GOD SUCH CONTENT WARNINGS  
> \- mentions of sexual trafficking, including a main character who is the victim of it. I don't know how to make this skippable, but there aren't any details described or flashbacks to what happened. It's about as thoroughly described (or less so) as Akaashi's history, there is just more that happened.  
> \- hints at really bad coping mechanisms  
> \- disturbing imagery (this one is skippable, but I'm putting the markers in the end notes to avoid spoilers)

Everyone else skitters out of the room like they were caught being unruly children. Ushijima shoots an even glare at Tendou, who grins and shrugs before dashing away, and then regards Tooru coolly. Tooru holds his breath. He still has no idea what Ushijima even wants him for. All he knows is that he ties into everything that has happened to Akaashi, everything that’s happened to Kuroo.

Ushijima sits on the edge of his bed and reaches for him, and Tooru manages to push himself back hard enough to slam his head against the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for Ushijima to choke him or break his shoulder or…

His hands settle almost gently on either side of Tooru’s neck, carefully pressing his head to one side to fiddle with the collar. He wears a thin leather glove on his left hand. He clicks at something below Tooru’s jaw slightly, and the prickling feeling Tooru gets from the collar is still uncomfortable, radiating down his spine, but he can ever so slightly make out Ushijima’s thoughts now. Not enough to see what he’s planning, but enough to feel his presence properly.

Whatever is going on, Ushijima doesn’t mean to hurt him, that much Tooru can tell. “I regret that we could not have met on better terms,” Ushijima says. “But you understand, surely, that I can’t trust you not to use your powers against me and my men.”

“No,” Tooru says, mouth dry with the surprise. “You can’t.” Granted, Tooru can’t get a good read on Ushijima’s thoughts, but his emotions are bizarre as well, and… something… something else is off. It’s the same feeling Tooru felt at the Institute.

But, as far as he can tell, Ushijima _means_ what he says. He’s not ashamed by the thought of kidnapping Tooru and rendering him powerless, but he does regret that it couldn’t have happened a better way, as though he has utter faith that whatever he stands for is the right course of action, and whatever he has to do to make it happen is unavoidable.

Tooru narrows his eyes. A man like that is dangerous. “What do you want from me?” Tooru grits out.

Whatever it is, Tooru is decidedly not interested. Hell, Ushijima could tell him all this was to save millions of puppies and Tooru would still fight him tooth and nail.

Somewhere, back home, Hajime has surely realized by now that Tooru is gone. He’s probably frantic, doing his best with the others to find him, and Ushijima doesn’t _care_. He doesn’t think it matters compared to his goals, if it’s even occurred to him at all.

Ushijima stands. “I will explain what I want from you,” he says. “But please, allow me to discuss this with you over dinner. You must be hungry.”

Tooru is hungry, he realizes. Hungry enough that he doesn’t want to spit in Ushijima’s face and risk not getting food in response. He tries to stand, but his legs are still too weak. Ushijima attempts to help him with a hand on his arm, but Tooru tugs his arm away. “Don’t touch me,” he snarls.

Ushijima merely drops his hand, unperturbed. “Very well,” he says, in the same grating monotone as everything else, and he allows Tooru to hobble and stumble into the middle of the room before realizing he doesn’t know where he’s going. He stops and tries to make it seem as though he’d always meant to stop and wait for Ushijima.

“The inhibitor will make it difficult for you to move freely,” Ushijima says. “It will be more comfortable for you if you allow me to help you to the dining room.”

It’s too obvious that he’s right, because Tooru’s knees are knocking together with the effort it takes to stay upright, but damned if he’ll admit it. “I’m fine,” he growls.

Ushijima only cocks his head. “You are about to collapse,” he says, with a sort of utter sincerity that sets Tooru’s teeth on edge. “You would refuse my help merely because of your pride?”

If Tooru was any more confident that attempting to punch Ushijima in the face would result in anything other than Tooru face planting on the floor, he would give it his best. As is, he just glares at Ushijima and says, “Yes,” and tries to take some joy in the utter confusion it causes his captor. “Lead the way.”

“I suppose it is your choice,” he says, opening the door for Tooru.

Tooru has to grab onto the wall to drag himself along. The collar feels tighter around his throat now, and the moment he leaves the room there are several sets of eyes on him, watching his clumsy, dragging walk. He tries not to let the shame get to him. Allowing Ushijima to support him, or worse, carry him will only make this more humiliating.

“If you push it, it’ll scar,” says a voice behind him.

Tooru looks back. Semi Eita glares back at him, arms crossed. Beside him Tendou is snickering at his pathetic progress. Tendou’s mind is as blank as ever, as though his thoughts and feelings are behind an impenetrable blockade. Semi seems to be attempting to put up the same kind of mental walls, but Tooru can still feel the faintest snatches of sympathy from him.

Tooru takes a moment to figure out what he means, but when his eyes settle on the answer he can’t look away. He hadn’t seen it earlier from his awkward position, but there’s a dark red streak that looks like a burn all around Semi’s neck that looks like a collar of its own, made of scar tissue.

He steps forward briskly to take Tooru’s arm when he notices Tooru’s horrified look. “I don’t want your pity,” he hisses. “It’s only some friendly advice, since you are a guest.”

“Captive,” Tooru mutters, but somehow, he doesn’t have the heart to be as petulant when it comes to Semi, not now that he sees that horrible scar. He leans on him, allowing him to hobble on. If Ushijima is upset that Tooru let Semi help him instead of Ushijima himself, he doesn’t dwell on it.

Semi only helps him to a large dining room. It looks like something that belongs in a restaurant, with elegant brick walls and soft lighting, the tables set with fine china on top of a burgundy tablecloth. There’s a spread of steaming dishes already on the table.“What is it you like to eat?” Ushijima asks, showing Tooru to a seat.

He pushes Tooru’s seat in, too, like they’re on a date or something. “I’m not picky,” Tooru says, but as he looks across the table, everything is an expensive delicacy and his mouth is watering.

“If you desire anything else, I will speak to the chef,” Ushijima says, sitting across from him.

Tooru nervously loads his plate with a little of each food. He makes to bite into it, but he pauses. Ushijima is still gathering his own food. Is he biding his time until Tooru eats? What if it’s drugged? Poisoned?

“What’s in this?” Tooru asks, breathlessly.

Ushijima pauses, staring at him as though confused by the question. “It depends which dish you’re referring to,” he says. “But much of it is seafood.”

“I mean,” Tooru sighs, annoyed that he has to clarify. “Did you drug it?”

“I cannot see what I would have to gain from that. Given the inhibitor, you would be unable to fight me as is.” He says it so matter of fact that Tooru wishes he’d rubbed it in.

“You eat first,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

“Very well,” Ushijima says, taking a bite of some tempura.

“Of all of it,” Tooru says.

“Is that necessary?”

“I’m not talking or eating until you do.”

“You will grow hungry.”

“And it’ll be your fault because you kidnapped me,” Tooru huffs, crossing his arms.

“That was Tendou,” Ushijima says, _finally_ seeming slightly offended. Only just a little, but his face verges on grumpy. Not enough to savor, but enough to let Tooru know that Ushijima has never met anyone so impressively petulant as Tooru. That he can savor. “But I suppose if it will put your fears to rest.”

He stands and painstakingly tastes each and every dish on the table. Tooru tries not to show his delight. To be honest, at the moment, he doesn’t even mind being kidnapped, because it means he doesn’t feel bad for the fact that he’s ruthlessly manipulating a man who doesn’t seem to be capable of imagining a hidden agenda fueled purely by pettiness.

“Are you satisfied?” Ushijima asks, sitting back down.

“Very,” Tooru says, taking a bite of some unagi. “So, does everyone get this kind of treatment? Do you snap an inhibitor collar on all your guests?”

“You are the first,” Ushijima says. “As I said, you are quite powerful, and I feared you may carry a grudge against me. After all, it would be understandable if you did.”

“I do,” Tooru says casually.

Ushijima seems unhurt by this, and continues eating.

“How come Semi has those scars, then?” Tooru asks.

“That was not my doing,” Ushijima says, suddenly sitting up, face chilly. “I do not stand for what happened to Eita.” His words have a strange bite to them, though his face barely changes. Disgust wafts off of him in waves.

Tooru’s mouth snaps shut. He nods, eyes wide. “Alright,” he murmurs. “It’s just that you put _me_ in a collar, so I assumed…”

“I take no enjoyment in that. If I were certain I could trust you, I would have it removed immediately,” Ushijima says, looking down at his food. Given his usual direct stares, the change makes him seem almost like a lost child.

“Well,” Tooru says, jovial. “That’s not going to happen, because if you let me I would destroy you and immediately leave.”

Ushijima nods, as though this makes sense and he respects the fact that Tooru has the audacity to say it freely. Tooru rolls his eyes. This guy is ridiculous.

“You must understand,” Ushijima says finally, looking at Tooru again. “My father was a man with a great legacy, but a legacy that has been tainted. Now that it is left to me to carry on that legacy, it is my duty to cleanse it. As a dead branch must be trimmed to keep the tree healthy, so too, must the evils of this legacy be extinguished. This is what I require your help for.”

Tooru laughs so hard he nearly has to spit out his food. “My help? You want my _help_?” he asks. “Ushiwaka-chan, I wouldn’t help you put out the flames if you were on fire.”

There’s a long and awkward silence as they stare into each other’s eyes. “Don’t call me that,” Ushijima murmurs finally.

“I will call you whatever I damn well please,” Tooru says, leaning back so he can throw one elbow over the back of his chair. If it’s Tooru’s help he needs, then Tooru is in control here, collar or no collar. As long as he plays it safe, Ushijima doesn’t seem the type to torture him, and most likely, if he’s belligerent for long enough, someone will certainly be able to find him.

Ushijima doesn’t try to argue with him. “I understand your reluctance,” he says. “But I wish for you to hear me out.”

Tooru shrugs. “Talk as much as you like. It’s not like you’re going to change my mind.”

“When my family first began this legacy,” Ushijima begins, as though Tooru’s opinions on whether he’ll change his mind or not are merely wild conjecture he doesn’t have time for. Tooru petulantly sticks a sushi roll into his mouth. “It was a noble venture. It stood for the people, and provided for them in ways that the law could not.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Tooru drawls. “It’s really done my friends a few favors.”

Ushijima stares at him for a long while. “I suppose it is thanks to us that Kuroo Tetsurou has his powers, but if Eita’s example is any indication, I doubt Akaashi Keiji was done many favors.”

Tooru sinks his face into his hands.

“Ah,” Ushijima says, a moment too late. “You are being sarcastic.”

“Yes,” Tooru says, with a hint of desperation.

“This is not a joking matter.”

Tooru is going to cry.

“I understand that you cannot see this ideal in my organization,” Ushijima continues. “We have… gone down the wrong path in the few generations.” He looks at his plate somberly, lacing his fingers together. “We have forgotten that we must gather our power to make a better world. Instead, we have lapsed into cruelty and immoral practices.”

He looks up, eyes sharp as rocks. “In many countries, mutants are not seen as people. Many in my father’s organization employed this as a loophole that would make sexual trafficking a great deal simpler. It was becoming… our primary source of income.”

Tooru’s mouth goes cold. “Oh,” he says.

“This is what happened to Eita, before I found him. What would have happened to your friends as well,” Ushijima says.

“You want to stop it?” Tooru says. Not even he would be stubborn enough to refuse that.

“Yes,” Ushijima says, then leans forward onto his elbows. “But this is about the honor of my family. It is not sufficient to cease these acts and carry on as though they have not tarnished what we once stood for.”

Tooru frowns, cocking his head.

“I have found a way to acquire enough power to eradicate those who played a role in this. To remind the world that we, mutants, are not lesser beings. We are the stronger kind. But in order to acquire it, I need your abilities.”

“Mass murder,” Tooru says, his heart speeding up as he says it. “You want me to help you get enough power to commit mass murder.”

“I will not harm the innocent,” Ushijima says.

“And I’m supposed to just trust that you’re going to pick and chose the innocent correctly? And that you’ll step back once your point is made?” Tooru breathes.

“Yes,” Ushijima says simply.

He can’t imagine failure. Tooru has no doubt that he doesn’t _mean_ to hurt the innocent, doesn’t _mean_ to do wrong, but he _can’t imagine_ making a mistake, or being wrong about what’s necessary, or things not going according to plan… His plan may be thorough, but no plan is as infallible as Ushijima thinks his is. Mixing that with the kind of power Ushijima is talking about…

Tooru bites at his lip. He just needs to stall until he finds a way out of here. With what information he’s been given, surely they’ll be able to do something about Ushijima’s troublesome trafficking ring without handing over the reins to a megalomaniac mob boss. He searches for words, but Ushijima cuts him off.

“I do not expect an immediate answer,” he says. “I am certain you will come to see that my cause is just. Until then, you are my guest.”

“You’ll keep me indefinitely?” Tooru whispers. “Until I say yes?”

Ushijima sighs. He looks at his gloved hand. “Unfortunately, I cannot take your powers without killing you. I am very much reluctant to do that. But if you refuse me or take too long in deciding, I may have no other option. There is too much at stake here. I ask you not to put me in such a situation that I must make that decision.”

Tooru gawks at him. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but my powers are not a nice thing to have,” he grits out. “So before you _threaten me…_ ”

“I do not mean to threaten you. I sincerely hope that we can come to an agreement peacefully,” Ushijima says. “And I am aware of the dangers. I have been gathering strength. It is fortunate that we managed to find a little blood that your friend left behind when he came to rescue his lover. Though I am disgusted with their work, I asked the laboratory workers to synthesize a version of his powers, but… it is not ideal.”

“You can’t control it either, can you?” Tooru murmurs.

“No. Also, it results in death each time, which is unfortunate… but for my purposes suitable. Fortunately it is restricted to only one hand.”

Tooru’s stomach flips. “Your purposes?”

“You needn’t worry,” Ushijima says. “I only took strength from those who were convicted of extremely heinous crimes. I have people in the government. I had them find me those who had been found guilty but who had the kind of abilities I desired. I guarantee you, with my natural powers and those I’ve gathered, I will have the strength to handle your powers.”

“It’s not about _strength_ ,” Tooru hisses. “And what if they were wrongfully convicted?”

“I was careful to ensure that they were not. I had Shirabu read their minds for me. He is nowhere near as powerful as you, but is quite accurate,” Ushijima says. “Eita may have been better, but you understand why I could not allow these men near him.”

“You still _killed_ them. For your own personal gain…”

“This is for the good of many. It is not for myself,” Ushijima says.

“You have no right to decide that!” Tooru manages through gritted teeth.

Ushijima regards him coolly. “These men deserved to die. I absorbed their memories. If they would have been allowed, they would have committed the same crimes again. I can create something righteous from their death.”

“You are playing a dangerous game here, Ushiwaka,” Tooru growls.

“Perhaps. But I ask you consider it. I will give you a week undisturbed. We will see what happens after that.”

Tooru sits silently for a moment. He grimaces at the table in front of him.

“Are you done eating?” Ushijima asks. “I will escort you back to your room if you have finished.”

Tooru nods.

Ushijima rounds the table and holds out his hand. Tooru takes it this time without complaint. Ushijima may be very confused about what right and wrong look like, but at the very least Tooru can be certain that he won’t try any funny business. He seems to regard rape as the most unforgivable of sins.

Though, to be honest, if he cares for Semi Eita at all, why wouldn’t he? Tooru feels sick to his stomach at the thought.

He looks at Ushijima instead, wondering just how to make sense of his motivations. He doesn’t want to be cruel, but he wants to show humans their place? What does he even mean, acquire power?

Something clicks into place and Tooru finally realizes what it is that’s so strange about Ushijima. He freezes midstep. “Those memories,” Tooru whispers. “How many of them have you taken?”

“There were four men,” Ushijima says.

“And their memories,” Tooru continues. “They’re still in your head.”

“They have faded,” Ushijima murmurs. “But yes.”

 _Oh, gods_ , Tooru thinks. _Oh, gods, he’s got four people in his head._

Tooru’s not an expert on absorbing people, but he can’t imagine that’s a stable situation. If Tooru added untold amounts of power to that, there’s no telling what could happen.

One week. The others have one week to find him, or…

Ushijima opens the door for him. “Please feel free to use anything in this room,” Ushijima says. “The collar is waterproof, if you would like to bathe. And if you require anything else, there is an intercom by the bed.”

Tooru nods hesitantly.

“Good night,” Ushijima says, and closes the door.

Tooru waits a moment and tries the handle. It doesn’t budge. He looks around the room instead. There’s a small doorway to a tiny bathroom. A bookshelf with a few books. There’s a lamp beside the bed on the nightstand, an overhead light, a clock on one of the walls, and the king sized bed itself. The room is fairly bare otherwise.

Tooru turns on the lamp and turns off the overhead light in order to inspect the lightbulb. A plan is half formed in his head.

It’s nearly 10 in the evening now. Tooru sits on the bed and waits a while, then closes his eyes and does his best to sense if there’s anyone outside. There doesn’t seem to be anything, so he quickly unscrews the light bulb.

He smashes it with his foot and picks out the filament.

Hopefully, it will work as a lock pick.

When they were kids, Hajime had decided he wanted to be a spy, like James Bond. They had played spies for a good year or so, and they’d tried to learn and do a multitude of things, from trying to climb tries with a makeshift grappling hook (which had ended in bruises) to learning how to pick locks.

In the end, the one stubborn enough to learn it properly and practice it had been Tooru.

He slides the filament into the lock. His hands aren’t exactly steady right now, but he leans his elbows on the door and starts fiddling with the lock. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Please work.”

The filament isn’t the ideal lock pick. He can’t quite get a feel for the tumblers. He grows more nervous that someone will check on him with each minute. But in the end, two hours later, he hears the tiny click that means he’s got it. “Yes,” he whispers, turning the lock as best he can.

It clicks open, leaving Tooru to carefully ease the door open as well. He pokes his head out cautiously. He still can’t sense anyone nearby, so he slips out of the room. He needs to find a window, or something, so he can orient himself and get out of the building. He decides to try a random direction.

So long as he can sense no one is around, he has time to try wandering.

He feels his way down the hall. He’s shaking by the time he gets to the end of it, but he can’t risk going too fast and running into someone anyway.

The walls here are blue.

He turns another corner, carefully, then another.

The walls are a sickening shade of green now.

He pauses, tugs at the collar, leaning heavily onto his knees. He’s dizzy from the constant prickling that runs down his spine.

He grabs back into the blue wall. He hauls himself forward.

His legs are shaking. That may be because the sand beneath him is a little slippery.

Still, it’s coarse as it grinds into his hands. Maybe it’s more like gravel?

“Hold on,” he wheezes. “I’ll get up in a second, Iwa-chan, promise.”

“You’re so useless, Oikawa,” Hajime mutters.

He hauls Tooru to his feet, slinging his arm over his shoulders. “You’re always doing this.”

“Tooru,” Tooru corrects. He can’t feel his legs.

“You’re always making me carry you around,” Hajime grunts. “Waste of my time.”

“Hold on,” Tooru whispers. “Hold on, my legs.”

Hajime drops him like a sack of potatoes. Tooru can’t stand back up. Hajime’s face is dripping in blood.

He’s dying.

Maybe he’s already dead.

He glares down at Tooru. “You’re always like this.”

Tooru tries to twist away. The sand is sucking him in.

“You used to be a good friend, Oikawa,” he continues.

Tooru’s struggling to keep his head over the surface.

“But then you became this _thing_.”

The walls are green again.

“And all you do is _take_.”

The sand is in his mouth.

“You think I wanted to be with you, Oikawa?”

Tooru shakes his head.

“When did we get together, Oikawa?”

 _Tooru_.

“Right after your powers started blooming.”

 _Stop_.

“And _then_ suddenly I was in love with you?”

_That’s not how it was._

“How stupid are you, Oikawa? I never wanted you.”

_Middle school. Hallway. Hajime held his hand and whispered to him that he didn’t need any of those girls. High school. School gym. Holding his hand after he’d blown out his knee. It had been so obvious._

“But you don’t know how to leave people alone, do you?”

He can’t breathe _he can’t breathe_.

“Now look at what you’ve done.”

Hajime wrenches him up, to his knees, forcing him to look him in the eyes. The bloody, dead eyes.

Blood spews from his mouth. Tooru screams.

He can’t pull away. He can’t feel his legs.

“You’re just this _thing_. This _thing_ that poisons _everything_. No one wants you.”

The hallway is strewn with bodies. They are all angry at Tooru.

He doesn’t have to screw his eyes shut for long before Hajime is shoving him back, onto the cold, cold floor.

He crawls back. “N-no,” he croaks. “No.”

“You always belonged in here,” Hajime says, looming above him. “You should have never left.”

The door to the isolation room swings shut with a thunderous bang.

Tooru shrieks and dives at the door. “No!”

He punches at the door until his knuckles bleed. The door and the wall it’s embedded in march forward threateningly in response.

“Nonono,” Tooru whispers. He falls back. The wall behind him slides forward too. “No, please! Let me out! Please!”

The walls on either side of him grow closer as well.

“Please!” Tooru cries. “Please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, just let me out, please!”

But the isolation room doesn’t halt in its quest to become a coffin, enclosing Tooru tightly as he scrabbles wildly at the door. “Hajime!” he screams. “Hajime, please, please!”

 _You deserve to die in here_ , Hajime’s voice says.

Tooru curls up, throwing his arms over his head and screams until his throat goes raw.

It takes him a while to notice the walls are gone. He can’t catch his breath, can’t stop crying. Tendou looms over him, seemingly satisfied with his work. His face flickers and distorts at odd moments. “It’s not very nice of you to try running off when you promised Wakatoshi-kun to hang around a little longer.”

Tooru whimpers and tries to roll onto his stomach to bolt away. Tendou easily snatches his leg, sliding him back easily as he squats down. “Poor Wakatoshi,” he murmurs. “He’s so noble. People think they can take advantage of it. But that’s what he’s got me for.”

“Please,” Tooru whispers, trying to crawl back. His throat is raw and he still can’t breathe without sobbing. He can’t stop shaking. “Please, I won’t try again.”

“Of course not,” Tendou says jovially, patting his knee. “You’ll be a good boy now, right?”

Tooru nods frantically.

“And you’ll help out Wakatoshi-kun, won’t you?” Tendou drawls. “He’s got such beautiful goals, our Wakatoshi.” He runs a long finger along the edge of Tooru’s jaw, relishing the shudder. “And if you upset our Waka-chan, I’ll have to upset someone of yours, ya know?”

Tooru’s barely controlled breathing goes crazy once again. “No,” he wheezes. “No, please, no.”

“I’d like to see your Iwaizumi-kun begging for his life, ya know?” Tendou looks down at him with an absurd sense of pride. “And then, maybe, if I’m _really_ good, I’ll make him beg for death.”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Tooru hisses, but Tendou just leans in, and the walls around him skew, making them seem like they’re closing in again. Tooru whimpers, tears obscuring whatever satisfied face Tendou makes. He chokes on a sob. “Please.”

“I’m a nice guy,” Tendou says casually. “If he begs for death, I’ll give it to him.”

“Please!” Tooru cries. “I’ll do it. I’ll say yes to Ushijima tomorrow, just please, leave Hajime alone!”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Tendou says, patting his face. “Oh, and don’t tell Wakatoshi-kun we had this talk. He’d be so disappointed to hear it wasn’t his shining righteousness that won you over.”

“Satori,” comes another voice, distracting Tendou from leaning over Tooru in the most threatening way possible. “Stop it.”

Tendou pouts, but it doesn’t move Semi at all from where he’s standing with his hands on his hips. “I’m only making sure he’s being polite to our Wakatoshi. Isn’t that right, Oikawa?”

Tooru nods frantically. He’ll do anything to avoid Tendou rounding on him again, much less Hajime.

“Don’t humor him,” Semi growls, pushing Tendou aside and hauling Tooru to his feet. He glares back at Tendou. “Try to behave, Satori.”

“He’s the one that was escaping!” Tendou protests.

“You’ve made your point,” Semi growls. “Now go be a creep somewhere else.”

Tendou pouts, but he trots off all the same.

Tooru blinks at Semi. “You _really_ look a lot like a friend of mine,” he wheezes. The collar is tight around his throat.

“Akaashi Keiji,” Semi says, slightly bitterly. “I know.”

“You don’t like him,” Tooru murmurs, as he tries to keep his legs moving.

“He’s the one who got away,” Semi growls. “I despise him.”

That wrenches a little anger out of Tooru, who is starting to worry he’s going to collapse on top of Semi. “It’s not like it was easy for him either, you know. He had to work hard to…”

Semi laughs, but there’s no happiness in it. “I don’t envy his safety. That sort of thing means nothing to me anymore,” he says. “I don’t even remember what it feels like. I _envy_ his fear. I envy that he has enough to lose to feel that way.”

Tooru is silent.

“The only person who makes me feel anything at all anymore is Satori,” Semi says, and he says his name like he’s spitting, but Tooru gets the sense that he’s referring to some kind of… agreement, and when he mentions feelings, Tooru gets the sense they’re not good ones. He frowns, wanting both to stay as far away from all of this as possible and to know more.

“Why would you stay with them,” Tooru whispers, finally. “Ushijima, Tendou… aren’t they all a part of this?”

“Wakatoshi is a good man,” Semi says. “He went against his father’s wishes to help me. And more importantly, he’s going to give me the chance to kill every man who ever touched me. I’d swear far more than loyalty for that.”

Tooru blinks up at him. “I see,” he says, as they reach his room.

Semi helps him to the bed. “I’ll get you a glass of water,” he murmurs. He disappears for a moment, then reappears with a glass. “Drink.”

Tooru’s throat is sore from everything, so he does, gladly. Semi takes the glass away from him quickly when he’s done, which is good, because Tooru’s fingers feel numb and he might have dropped it.

He looks up at Semi in terror, though he can’t focus his eyes. Semi pushes him back on the bed. He flops back, boneless. “I’m sorry,” Semi says. “But you’ll feel better if the collar comes off for the night, and I didn’t want to risk letting you run loose with your powers.”

“You… drugged me?” Tooru slurs.

“It’s alright. It’ll help you get a good night’s rest,” Semi says, leaning over him to fiddle with the collar. “Just close your eyes, Oikawa.”

Tooru can’t exactly do much else. His head feels fuzzy, and then he doesn’t feel anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skippable scene contains some minor gore, some bizarre/disturbing imagery that's meant to represent a skewed reality, but it's not all that long or that explicit. Scene is from "The walls here are blue." to "It takes him a while to notice the walls are gone."
> 
> Me, gently shoving Tendou Satori into my bag: Listen... I know my son is being a little evil right now, but... Listen... he's... Listen. *starts crying* (Also, let me just note that I wrote Tendou's scene while listening to Aqua's Candyman. Thanks Essie.)
> 
> Next week: Mistakes are made. Ushijima... looking at you. Stop making so many bad choices. This will not end well for you. Or for Tooru.
> 
> Especially for Tooru. (Someone save him.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fine,” Tooru says. “So…” He groans, sinking his face into his hands. This is crazy, but if he doesn’t do it, Hajime will bear the weight of it. You can rescue me any time, guys, he thinks, desperately.
> 
> “There’s something else you won’t like,” Semi says suddenly. Tendou glares at him as Tooru drags his face up.
> 
> “What?” he asks.
> 
> “The only way to open a channel to summon the Phoenix seems to be connected to someone at the time of their death.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why must I always post early? I have no impulse control whatsoever.
> 
> Anyway... HOO BOY do I have content warnings for you. In a nutshell: mentions of sexual trafficking, mentions of slightly... ah... dysfunctional relationships/coping mechanisms (very, very vague mentions, but just in case), very vague mentions of torture, memory loss... uh...
> 
> Oh, yeah, and death. Ha. Details in the end notes (some of it is graphic and therefore skippable)

By the morning the collar is back in place, and it’s sore by now, a radiating sting that stretches down his shoulders. Goshiki is teetering awkwardly in the corner when, after a long struggle, Tooru sits up. “Ushijima-san would enjoy your company at breakfast,” he blurts.

Tooru kind of wants to tell him to fuck off, kind of really wants to eat, even though his head is throbbing and his back aches and he feels, at best, kind of hungover. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Help me up.”

Goshiki leaps to do as he’s told. “What’s your deal, kid?” he asks. This boy can’t be much older than Tobio. He doesn’t seem to fit in here.

“Ushijima-san is a great man!” Goshiki declares. “I want to live up to that. My father worked for his father and my grandfather worked for his grandfather but… but I’m going to be his partner. Maybe someday I’ll even take over for him.”

“Right,” Tooru sighs. He’s just a dumb kid with too much ambition. To be fair, Tooru is relieved it’s not a tragic backstory like Semi’s, but at the same time he’s now convinced that the young boy beside him is, frankly, a moron.

When they get to the dining room, Ushijima is tending to a few plants in the corner. He looks surprisingly content, in a way that Tooru hadn’t thought possible. He wonders if maybe there’s a parallel universe in which Ushijima is just an emotionally stunted but peaceful gardener. Maybe in that world, Tooru would kind of like him.

Tendou is perched on one of the chairs, and Tooru can’t barely suppress a shiver at the sight of him. He’s leaning over precariously to prod at Semi jovially, while Semi does not seem amused. Something about it only strengthens Tooru’s suspicions on what their dynamic is. “Good morning, Oikawa,” Ushijima says, setting down his watering can. “Please, help yourself.”

The table is set, as before, with all kinds of delicacies. Tooru grabs a plate and loads it full. He’s hungry enough at this point that not even Tendou’s jeering in the background can stop him from stuffing his face. 

Ushijima sits across from him again, leaving Tendou and Semi behind him slightly. They both glare him down threateningly. 

Tooru swallows as best he can without choking. “I…” he croaks. He tries to do the math and weigh risks, but he can’t stop thinking about how accurately Tendou navigated all his worst fears last night, and he can’t help wonder what Hajime’s worst fears are. “I thought about…” Ushijima watches him patiently. Surely, he won’t become unstoppable, but Tendou could find Hajime faster than the others can find Tooru to get him out of here… “I thought about your offer.”

Ushijima merely tilts his head and beckons for him to continue. Tendou narrows his eyes at him in a warning.

“What is it, exactly, that you need me to do?” Tooru says weakly.

“I found an old text in one of my father’s libraries,” Ushijima says. “It spoke of an ancient and powerful force that could only be summoned by those who could see into minds freely. This book was written by a man who had seen this force be summoned. He said it was as though the fire of a hundred stars had come to life as a magnificent falcon-like creature. He called it the Phoenix.”

“So you want me to summon this thing, and you’re going to… what? Ask it nicely to do what you want?” Tooru asks. He’s not entirely sure he trusts that such a thing exists.

“I wish to absorb its power. In this account a man with the ability to take the life of others, like myself, was able to take the life of the Phoenix itself by touching the telepath who had connected with it.”

Tooru spits out his food. “So you want me to summon a mythical being and then you’ll kill me to absorb its power?”

“The telepath was unharmed. You would merely be a conduit for a few moments. I intend to be extremely careful to leave you unharmed as well.”

“Ok,” Tooru sighs. “First of all… how do you know this account is even accurate? How old is it, even?”

“This was two hundred years ago.”

Tooru rubs at his temple. “Alright. Two hundred years ago, and yet no one’s mentioned it since.” He sighs. 

“It was discredited quite quickly,” Ushijima says. “Many felt it was too absurd to believe”

“But you don’t? What’s your proof?”

“The account is quite detailed and was written by a respected professor, but after he wrote the paper many felt he had gone mad,” Ushijima says. “However, I have yet to find anyone who found evidence against it, or evidence that would have pointed to the professor’s mental instability. But more importantly, he also described certain signs that the Phoenix was present. If I do not see them, I will not touch you.”

“Fine,” Tooru says. “So…” He groans, sinking his face into his hands. This is crazy, but if he doesn’t do it, Hajime will bear the weight of it.  _ You can rescue me any time, guys _ , he thinks, desperately.

“There’s something else you won’t like,” Semi says suddenly. Tendou glares at him as Tooru drags his face up. 

“What?” he asks.

“The only way to open a channel to summon the Phoenix seems to be connected to someone at the time of their death.”

Tooru stares at him. He seems to have forgotten how to close his mouth. “So wait, we’re going to  _ murder  _ someone for this?”

“I’m going to murder someone,” Semi says, his eyes cold. “And whether something comes of it or not, I’ll do so anyway.”

Tooru’s stomach turns. It’s faint, given the collar, but Semi’s thoughts are strong enough that Tooru knows he’s speaking of the doctor with the thick glasses, the one who keeps appearing in people’s worst nightmares. “But…” he says weakly. Tooru doesn’t have the ability to dismiss murder, but he does have to admit that if anyone deserved it, it would be that man.

“Listen,” Semi grits out. “This is a man who takes pleasure in torturing helpless children. And it’s not just that, either. He sets you up. Lets you think, for a moment, that you can escape. He steers you, every second of the way, and then when he sees that you’ve finally managed to scrape together some hope,  _ that’s _ when he cracks down and  _ sells _ you. He enjoys breaking people in. Taking  _ everything  _ from them.”

Tooru can’t meet his eyes, and instead tries to look anywhere else. He finds himself looking at Tendou, whose face has gone fuzzy, almost like static on an old television set. The sight is as bizarre as it is terrifying, but it’s gone as soon as it starts, back to the usual twitchy but clear motions.

“The thought of killing those men, especially  _ him _ , is…” Semi says, and he loses determination for a moment, his voice going quiet. “It’s all I have.” His shoulders drop and his eyes go dim.

“You’re so hot when you get all feisty about revenge, Eita!” Tendou laughs.

Semi lights up again, like anger has poured life into him. “This isn’t one of your weird fantasies, Satori!” he growls, smacking Tendou over the head. The look on Tendou’s face is both satisfied and gut wrenching, and both he and Tendou know that Semi can’t see it.

Tooru frowns.  _ Surely he doesn’t… _ he thinks, before Tendou’s look nails him to the back of his chair with a taunting look, as though to say,  _ Go on, see what I’ll do with your loved ones if you try to one up me. _ Tooru swallows, his throat dry. He forces himself to look away from Tendou.

“What about the guy who absorbed that power before? What happened to him?” Tooru says, scraping at the table with a rough fingernail. “How do we know the Phoenix didn’t die with him?”

“He died immediately,” Ushijima says. “The Phoenix was released when he did.”

Tooru stops short. “Well,” he says, nearly chuckling. “At the very least you’re being fair. Gambling with your own life as well, and all.”

“I do not intend leave these things to chance,” Ushijima says. “If there is anyone strong enough to bear this power, it is me.”

Tooru chews at his lip. There’s no way for him to say no, not without putting Hajime in danger, but he feels more in control of the situation now. He’ll try, and most likely fail, to summon this thing, but if he does manage it, they’ll find a way to stop Ushijima afterwards. Maybe he’ll have a chance to get at him before all this goes down, if Ushijima removes the collar beforehand. So long as Tooru keeps Tendou at bay… “You’re laughably confident,” he says, his mouth dry. “But fine. Let’s try it.”

“In that case, follow me,” Ushijima says.

Tooru’s heart skips a beat and he freezes in his seat. It’s happening  _ now? _ He’d thought at the very least he’d bought himself a few days, but… 

Tendou’s fingers close around the back of his neck and squeeze as the person they’re attached to grins down at him. “Need any help getting up?” he croons. Behind him, a ghostly image of a tormented Hajime flickers, invisible to everyone in the room but Tooru.

“N-no,” Tooru whispers, hurrying to push himself to his feet. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Tendou murmurs, pushing him after Ushijima.

-X-

It seems there are windows in the parts of the building that aren’t made for taking captives. Tooru tries to orient himself as they walk, but all he can see is coast. The weather is foggy outside, and the waves crash against the rocks outside the window. Perhaps they’re on an island.

Ushijima shows him into a large room. The top of it is silvery, covered in metal panels, and the bottom is covered in what seems to be runes. Tendou vanishes for a moment, then reemerges with a new guy who seems to be uninterested in everything but how to out-sarcasm Tendou. He has a large, oddly human shaped sack over his shoulder, which he deposits in the middle of the room.

“Have fun,” he says, clapping Semi on the shoulder and leaving the room. Tendou hands him a gun. Semi’s hand shakes as Tendou angles his hand and the gun at the doctor, his long fingers steadying Semi’s for just a moment too long to be all practicality. “Hit right there, that’ll give us enough time.”

Semi nods, but he’s quivering. Tooru doubts he’d be able to aim at anything like this.

“Come on, Semisemi,” Tendou laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your nerve now?”

“Stop with the Semisemi crap,” Semi snaps, standing a little straighter. “I’m fine.” He steps a little closer to the bag, which is now squirming slightly, but Tooru is distracted by Ushijima’s hands on the sides of his neck, turning him to face Ushijima.

“I will remove the collar. However, Shirabu will be watching from the outside. If he notices anything out of the ordinary, he will hit you with a tranquilizer dart, do you understand?”

Tooru nods. There goes one possible plan. 

The collar clicks a little and then slides open. Tooru rubs at the sore skin there, flinching as the thoughts around him hit him full force. Up close, it’s easier to feel the way Ushijima’s phantom memories lurk at the back of his mind like shadow images. Tendou is still a blank slate, but he can feel Semi’s flurry of emotions, so tangled and confused that it’s no wonder Semi has convinced himself that he feels nothing to hide from them all.

And last but not least, the doctor. Semi has pulled the hood from his head. He’s bound and gagged and still… he lets off a sort of smugness as he looks at Semi, shakily raising the gun at him. It’s as though he sees Semi, and everything that’s been done to him as a work of art, a masterpiece.

Any hesitation that Tooru might have felt about killing him is gone.

“Ready?” Ushijima asks, tugging off his glove.

The doctor looks at him and Tooru’s mind is flooded with images.  _ How pretty _ , the doctor thinks. He has a name, Tooru supposes, but there’s such a lack of humanity in this man that Tooru doesn’t want to give him that kind of identity.  _ What I could have done with you _ . Tooru leans onto his knees, his mouth going sour as he feels the way the doctor sizes him up, wondering how it would be the most fun to break him in.

He doesn’t want to see any more of this man’s mind than he has to, but he can tell that Semi is paying attention, as well as he can, to Tooru’s thoughts. He’ll notice if Tooru doesn’t try.

“Shoot him,” Tooru croaks.

Semi still hesitates. The doctor looks at him, smirking a little. He doesn’t believe that Semi is capable of it. For a moment, Tooru isn’t sure either. Semi’s hands shake, not with remorse, but with fear, as though a man that’s bound and gagged will be able to take revenge on him even after being shot.

“Eitaaaa!” Tendou sings. “You’re taking  _ forever _ .”

Anger surges in Semi, and he pulls the trigger.

Tooru flinches. He feels the pain as though it was his own, but at least it’s better than the twisted thoughts he’d been subjected to before. Shock, fear, pain sift through the doctor’s thoughts, but Tooru, for a moment, isn’t moved.

But then it changes. It takes a few moments. Semi’s aim was excellent, finding a place in his chest that lets their victim die slow enough for Tooru to latch on to those thoughts, but fast enough that he’s dying only minutes later.

Tooru feels it, in detail. The way those thoughts, an entire person, melts away into a kind of cold hole. At first it makes Tooru shiver, but when the last bit of life is jerked out of Tooru’s mental image, he finds himself pitching forward as well. He feels cold and a little like a hole has been punched into him, and the first attempt to get back up only results in him pitching forward again and emptying his stomach.

“Wakatoshi,” Tendou whines. “You didn’t…”

He’s cut off by something, and then Ushijima is squatting down beside him. “Did you feel it?”

Tooru shakes his head. All he felt was emptiness. 

Ushijima helps him sit up, gently. The care in the gesture is genuine, but it still makes Tooru shudder. He wishes the collar was back on, so he doesn’t have to feel how staunchly Ushijima believes he’s in love with Tooru, and how tragically wrong he is. Tooru wants to cry, or throw up again.

“Perhaps the connection wasn’t strong enough,” Ushijima suggests. 

“We should try someone closer to him,” Tendou says. “Maybe Iwaizumi, huh? Get rid of your competition, Wakatoshi, yeah?”

“Don’t you even…” Tooru hisses. 

“I do not wish to harm anyone innocent,” Ushijima says. He doesn’t understand how Hajime could possibly be competition in anything. “Iwaizumi has done nothing wrong, and we will not kill him.”

As relieved as Tooru is to hear that, the idea that Ushijima doesn’t see Hajime as anything more than a footnote makes Tooru want to punch him. He tries to get up, but he slides back onto his knees like a newborn deer. He’s still shaking, dammit.

“I will help you back to your room,” Ushijima murmurs. He picks the collar up and slides it back onto his throat. Tooru doesn’t bother to try to stop him, though he jerks a little when he realizes that Ushijima forgot his glove and might have accidentally touched him. 

Though, now that the collar is back on, the glove is the last of Tooru’s concerns, and given the worried look Ushijima gives him as he takes in Tooru’s shivers, it seems Ushijima feels the same. Pride or not, Tooru lets Ushijima pull him into his arms, and he looks back at the room for a moment.

Semi hasn’t moved at all since he pulled the trigger. At the moment, he really does feel numb. Quite frankly, enemy or not, Tooru just hopes he’ll be alright.

-X-

“How many more times are you going to make me do this?” Tooru asks, as Ushijima wraps a blanket around his shoulders. The gesture is strangely thoughtful, and Tooru would rather he didn’t have to deal with that kind of softness in Ushijima right now.

Ushijima sighs. “It is not in my nature to give up so easily,” he says quietly. “But I don’t wish to make you suffer.”

Tooru sniffles, rubbing at his nose. He still feels cold.

“Would you like tea?” Ushijima asks.

“I want to go home,” Tooru murmurs.

Ushijima is silent for a moment. “You would do well here,” he says. “You are powerful. By my side, you would flourish.”

Tooru blinks up at him. “I don’t want to stay,” he says.

Ushijima cocks his head. “Iwaizumi is only human. He cannot compare to you,” he says.

Tooru wants to be mad. He wants to scream and be petty and make Ushijima’s life  _ hell _ , but… “And I’m nothing without him,” Tooru whispers. Ushijima’s brow only furrows further. “Listen. Ushijima. Waka… Wakatoshi. Has anyone, ever, in your entire life, loved you for anything other than your strength and power?”

The ensuing silence is one of the most heartbreaking things Tooru has ever heard. “It is our strength that makes us capable of being reliable for those who are important to us,” he says finally.

Tooru closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I tried to do as you asked. I really did. But I’m glad it didn’t work. I wasn’t rooting for you.” Ushijima blinks at him, uncomprehending. “And I want to be petty about it, but… But honestly I hope that you find someone… at least one person, whether it’s a lover or anyone else, it… it doesn’t matter… just someone who makes you understand why.”

Ushijima is quiet, but Tooru can tell what he’s thinking.

“It’s not going to be me,” he says, before Ushijima gets an idea stuck in his head. “It’s never going to be me.”

Ushijima nods. “Very well. I will not force you.”

“I want to go home,” Tooru says again, more forcefully this time.

Ushijima contemplates it for a moment, and he teeters on the edge of saying something before an alarm shrieks around them with enough volume that Tooru thinks his eardrums might shatter. Ushijima looks up, then back at Tooru. “Stay here,” he says, and leaves the room.

Tooru bounds over to try the door, but it must lock automatically, because he can’t open it. “For fuck’s sake,” he whispers. 

The door clicks, and Tooru leaps back, wondering how to make it look like he wasn’t trying it. It creaks open and Tooru backs away even further. What’s with the theatrics?

“Oikawa-san?” a very familiar voice whispers.

“Oh gods,” Tooru wheezes, prying open the door and pulling Akaashi into a crushing hug. “You found me.”

“I can’t… breathe,” Akaashi squeaks, and Tooru steps back, grinning.

Behind Akaashi, Tobio is watching them warily, one hand on his visor. “Are you alone, Oikawa-san?” he asks.

“Yes,” Tooru says, and hell, he steps forward and hugs Tobio as well. Tobio goes stiff in his arms, which appeases Tooru’s pettier side as well. Tooru lets go quickly before he cries. 

Akaashi turns him around, inspecting the collar. “Can you get it off?” Tooru asks.

“One moment,” Akaashi says. “They bugged most of our computers and cameras. That’s how they knew when Iwaizumi-san was gone, I assume. Don’t ask me how, but Kenma figured out how to turn it back around on them. I’ve been watching their security footage while Kenma and Tetsurou tried to track down the source of the signal. I think I saw the sequence they used for the collar as well.”

“Iwa?” Tooru wheezes.

Akaashi smiles wryly. “Couldn’t watch a second without getting too angry. He broke a lamp, so I told him I would relay any relevant information.”

Tooru smiles at that. “He’s alright, then?”

“Quite frantic, but yes.” There’s a click and finally the collar comes off. Akaashi’s thoughts are a little guilty now that Tooru can hear them properly. Tooru frowns.

“Could you go check if our way out is clear, Kageyama-kun?” Akaashi asks. 

Kageyama nods and hurries down the hall. 

“This isn’t the best time to say this, but… I watched him die,” Akaashi whispers. “And… and I want to ask… did he beg for his life?”

Akaashi’s thoughts are careful and his face is unreadable, so Tooru decides to answer honestly. “He would have, if he wasn’t gagged.”

Akaashi smiles, albeit ruefully. “Good,” he says. He hugs Tooru again. “But I am very sorry you had to go through this. I’m glad you’re unharmed.”

Tooru’s head is spinning. He wants to laugh, wants to maybe comfort Akaashi, wants to cry, but instead, he tries to change the topic as Akaashi takes his wrist and tugs him down the hall. “Where are Kenma and Kuroo?” he asks.

“Causing a distraction,” Akaashi says. “We’ll pick them up on the way out.”

Akaashi leads him down a winding series of hallways before they hear a massive explosion. Tooru whirls around to see where it’s coming from. “That was probably Kuroo!” Tooru shouts, taking off in the direction of the bang.

“O-Oikawa-san!” Kageyama calls after him.

“We have a signal planned!” Akaashi adds, but Tooru is already nearly down the hallway, turning the corner quickly and sliding into the room where the doctor’s blood still stains the floor. 

Goshiki is out cold on the floor, probably thanks to Kenma, who is facing down Ushijima and a sandy haired person that Tooru might have seen talking to Shirabu earlier, and the wall behind Kuroo is torn almost entirely away, leaving a slightly startled Tendou and another wild-haired person that Tooru wasn’t introduced to. Tendou pushes himself to his hands and knees with a growl and sharp eyes.

He fixes his eyes on Kuroo, who is currently checking on Kenma, who is apparently trying to get the hang of Goshiki’s powers fast enough to fight the sandy-haired guy. 

“Kuroo!” Tooru yells, heart pounding. 

Ushijima whirls around to look at him, eyes wide. To be honest, almost everyone does, but at that moment, the only thing that matters is that Ushijima, for a split second, looks away.

In the next moment, the only thing that matters is that Kenma doesn’t. Instead, he takes Ushijima’s distraction as a chance to dive forward and grab at his face with his uncovered hand.

In the third moment, all that matters is that Ushijima is startled by the feeling of Kenma’s powers draining his own.

Startled and left handed. 

Left handed, with his glove still forgotten in his pocket.

Three moments.

Three moments are not enough for Tooru to even shout. His mind connects the dots before his body can respond, and his mind tries to reach out for Kenma, to warn him, to tell him to pull away, to jerk to the side at least, to let Ushijima’s flailing hand hit his clothed shoulder instead.

The moment Tooru’s mind connects with Kenma’s own, Ushijima’s hand connects, ever so slightly, with Kenma’s face. 

In the fourth moment, while Tooru is still reaching out for Kenma’s, he feels, in a feeling akin to being torn in two, as Kenma’s life is snatched away, leaving Tooru gasping and trying to drag back something that simply doesn’t exist anymore, like his mind itself is stumbling over a hole in the very fabric of the universe.

There is one last moment, a moment in which Tooru feels as though he might have been able to grab onto Kenma’s mind if he’d been just a fraction of a moment faster. As though he had managed to claw into Kenma’s being telepathically as he was ripped away, and the feeling of suddenly having that feeling slide through his fingers leaves him unbalanced and stumbling. 

It’s an indescribable feeling, like his soul is still grabbing wildly at some kind of metaphorical material his brain can’t manage to comprehend.

And then his eyes connect with Ushijima’s. 

Whatever Tooru had felt before, as vast and bewildering as it was, it’s nothing compared to now. Sheer rage is all that keeps him on his feet as the sudden shock of Kenma being torn out of the world hits him, truly, with all its emotional weight. Kenma, who has been beside him for seven years. Kenma, who has sat with him through some of his hardest moments. Kenma, who is the closest thing Tooru has to a little brother. 

He’s gone, in an instant, before he hits the ground, and Tooru has felt every grotesquely thin slice of that one moment. It hits him so hard he can’t register Ushijima’s shock. He can’t register the moment Kuroo makes the connection and starts running, agony already engulfing him. He can’t register Akaashi’s horrified stare from afar. He doesn’t even register the fact that his knees hit the floor beside Kenma as Kuroo leans over him, nearly knocking his head into Tooru’s. 

It feels like Tooru has grabbed into the ether for Kenma and has come back with only a slowly building, fiery rage. 

Kuroo’s pain hits Tooru like an arrow straight through his chest, and then it vanishes. Kuroo, who couldn’t stop thinking to save his life, narrows down to a single, well practiced movement without a hitch, laying Kenma down and pinching his nose, breathing for him.  _ It’s no use, _ Tooru wants to say, but he knows that the moment Kuroo stops trying will be the moment he tears in two. “Come on, Kenma, come on,” he grits out as he goes through the motions.

Tooru whirls around. “ _ You _ ,” he hisses, the rage that kept him standing flaring into something animal, something terrifying. For once, Ushijima doesn’t miss the look in his eyes, because he takes one step back, holding up his hand defensively.

“I did not mean…” he starts, but Tooru doesn’t  _ care _ , he doesn’t  _ care _ that Ushijima could be a good person if anyone had taught him how as a child, doesn’t  _ care _ if it was an accident.

He wants Kenma back. 

He wants Kenma back, but someone else’s blood will have to do instead.

Whatever sparked in his chest before, it explodes now, and it throws everyone across the room. Everyone but Kuroo and Kenma, still in the eye of the storm behind Tooru, who still hasn’t let go of Kenma’s wrist, and Ushijima, who instinctively grabs onto Tooru when he feels the whirlwind start up.

Tooru’s sleeve tears and Ushijima’s deadly hand slides against his skin, and it’s only then that he realizes, only a moment too late, that the whirlwind isn’t his doing after all. In fact, what he’d thought was rage isn’t so much rage as something much, much bigger and much, much hotter. 

When Ushijima had said conduit, Tooru hadn’t quite realized that he’d meant  _ literally _ .

It’s only a split second before Ushijima is whipped away by the storm, but it feels like years to Tooru, years of being a livewire between two massive forces. To call it painful would be a severe understatement. It’s more as though Tooru’s soul itself has been scorched away to make room for whatever it is that’s flowing through him and into Ushijima. Something alive and indifferent and roaring with flames of sheer energy. He can’t tell if he screams or not.

As Ushijima is forced to let go, it dies away, as though it has nowhere to go now that Tooru’s not a connection between the two of them. Everything caught up in his power, or its power, drops to the ground, and so does Tooru. 

His whole body is still twitching with the memory of that awful pain, like it’s been seared into his every nerve. He tries to breathe, each breath ripping through his throat like a saw. He’s drenched in sweat and maybe tears, but…

Behind him, Kenma breathes. 

Tooru crawls and stumbles until he’s turned back around to lean over Kenma. Kuroo touches his face nervously, then desperately, feeling for a pulse just in case. “Oh, gods. Oh, thank the gods, he’s… he’s ok. He’s fine, he’s breathing…” he gasps, as though he’s about to quake apart entirely. The fear and pain he’d somehow held at bay while he focused on saving Kenma’s life erupt back into his mind like an avalanche, his entire being shaking from the impact.

Tendou is the first to clamber back to his feet, and he starts at them with a leer, but Ushijima catches him with a hand to his chest. “Let them go,” he says.

Tendou looks confused, but he steps back.

Tooru’s body won’t stop sizzling and his muscles feel like popping embers, but he manages to get up. “Kuroo,” he croaks. “Can you bring Kenma?”

Kuroo nods, wiping away tears with the back of his hand and then pulling his boyfriend into his arms and standing as well. Tooru stares at Ushijima. Ushijima stares back.

Whatever Tooru feels about him is unclear, but he sincerely hopes that he will never have to see Ushijima again. 

-X-

The last of Kuroo’s composure breaks the moment they get home and Bokuto thunders down the stairs to grab onto Kenma and ask what happened. Akaashi is shaking too, but he explains, albeit not nearly as calmly as usual, while Kuroo hands Kenma over and dashes to the nearest bathroom to puke.

Tooru feels numb to it all, still swallowing hard to get the taste of that single, excruciating moment out of his limbs.

Hajime comes running from the kitchen and crashes into him hard enough that Tooru stumbles back, clutching onto him like a child. He’s crying and clawing at Tooru’s shirt, but for a moment Tooru can’t move.

Ushijima is still out there, somewhere, with every drop of power that traveled through Tooru like liquid magma. He could be unstoppable. He’s unstable, nearly fanatic and  _ that power _ . That power that Tooru felt could have incinerated him where he stood and Ushijima has it and it’s all because Tooru was frightened to lose Hajime.

For all that he hates Ushijima for being blinded by his obsessive goals, Tooru is just as selfish. This is why he should have never allowed himself the luxury of being with Hajime, because Tooru’s mind is just as one-track as Ushijima and he’s done a terrible thing. A terrible, terrible thing, all because he’s too greedy when it comes to Hajime.

“Tooru!” Hajime shouts, and that snaps Tooru out of his horrified realizations. “Gods.” Hajime’s hand is cool on his cheek. “What’d they do to you, you look…”

“I’m fine!” Tooru says, cheerfully.

He fucked up. He fucked up, that’s it, and he’s going to allow himself one more day to give up on this, this radiant love that would make him burn the world for one more day of it, one more day to  _ stop fucking shaking _ and then he’s going to stop Ushijima.

“You’re not…” Hajime says, but Tooru is already staggering away.

“We’ll go to your place tonight,” Tooru says. Boundaries. There had been boundaries between them, because Tooru  _ knew  _ he could trust himself to get too close and not fuck everything up, but for a moment… for a moment he’d been so enraptured by Hajime, so desperate for his kind thoughts, that he’d forgotten what a danger he was. To everyone. Always. Selfish. Dangerous.

_ That thing _ , a sinister voice at the back of Tooru’s head whispers. 

“Tooru…” Hajime calls.

“Let’s just check on Kenma, alright?”

He stumbles down to the infirmary, where Kuroo is sitting, looking a little green around the edges but probably done puking, holding onto Kenma’s hand with both of his like he’s holding the most precious gem in all the world.

Tooru sinks down into the chair beside Akaashi’s, and Akaashi gives him a look, but Tooru avoids it, and he waits, trying not to flinch whenever Hajime stands behind him and touches him more gently than he deserves.

It’s obvious something’s wrong the moment Kenma opens his eyes. At least, to Tooru it is. To everyone else, it takes a moment, a moment in which Kenma looks down at Kuroo’s hands, bewildered and squirms away when Kuroo starts up. “Kenma!” he cries. “Oh, gods, you’re awake.”

Kenma tries to jerk his hand away, but Kuroo barely flinches. Bokuto looks at Akaashi. Akaashi tries to say something, but he’s cut off by Kuroo’s frantic, “It’s ok! We can touch, nothing’s happening…”

“I can see that…” Kenma murmurs, barely audible, fingers curving so they touch as little as possible.

“Can I talk to you outside for a moment, Kuroo?” Tooru says.

Kuroo looks at him like he’s crazy. 

“Just a moment,” Tooru says. “It’s important.”

Kuroo grits his teeth and lets go of Kenma. “I’ll be right back, I promise,” he says, and Kenma just looks bewildered.

Tooru lets them step outside and closes the door behind them. “Sit down,” he says.

“Why?” Kuroo asks, angrily. He wants nothing more than to be with Kenma and never leave him again. It wasn’t long, but Tooru gets the feeling that that little time knowing Kenma was dead will never quite leave him. To lose Kenma ever again would break him.

“Sit,” Tooru says. This is not going to be easy to say.

Kuroo huffs out a sigh and sits in one of the chairs in the hall. “What?”

“Kuroo,” Tooru says. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think Kenma has any idea who you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The graphic death scene is not of a named or sympathetic character. However, the process of dying is very detailed. Not really any gore, but it is a fairly intense, uncomfortable moment. Skipping is from "He feels the pain as though it was his own," to "“Wakatoshi,” Tendou whines. “You didn’t…”"
> 
> There is also a temporary death scene, but this is extremely quick. I haven't made it skippable because it's so short, but let me know if you need it. (In general, if you need me to tag something/add certain content warnings, let me know)
> 
> Next week: I mean. Obviously it's a KuroKen chapter. They've... uh... got some things to work out.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tetsurou sits up so quickly he nearly bangs his head on his desk. “Kenma!” he cries, and Kenma skitters back a little, one hand on his elbow. “Hi!”
> 
> Kenma blinks at him, bewildered. “Uhhh… h-hi,” he mumbles, staring nervously at Tetsurou’s nose.
> 
> It’s not that Kenma’s very good at eye contact, with him either, but he’s comfortable enough to not pretend that he is. He’s supposed to be staring lazily at his shoulder, not trying to fake eye contact. Tetsurou’s heart clenches once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! I'll probably post on Mondays from here on out, so... yes. Enjoy this early, early chapter.
> 
> Content warnings for memory loss. And wow, that's the only one, I guess.

There’s a soft knocking at the door, probably Bokuto, being overly cautious, or Akaashi, being as measured as usual as he comes to tell Tetsurou off for running off after Tooru had talked to him. Tetsurou pulls his covers tighter over the head as he hears the door creak open, trying to at least make his sniffles a little quieter. “I know,” he croaks, and he hates how obvious it is that he’s been bawling for more than an hour now. “I know I need to talk to Kenma, but I can’t just yet, ok?”

There’s a long pause. “Sh-should I leave then?” comes Kenma’s voice, more hesitant than usual. Or at least, more hesitant than he should be around Tetsurou.

Tetsurou sits up so quickly he nearly bangs his head on his desk. “Kenma!” he cries, and Kenma skitters back a little, one hand on his elbow. “Hi!”

Kenma blinks at him, bewildered. “Uhhh… h-hi,” he mumbles, staring nervously at Tetsurou’s nose.

It’s not that Kenma’s very good at eye contact, with him either, but he’s comfortable enough to not pretend that he is. He’s supposed to be staring lazily at his shoulder, not trying to fake eye contact. Tetsurou’s heart clenches once again.

“I… I didn’t think you’d want to see the weird guy who was holding your hand while you were unconscious,” Tetsurou mutters, rubbing at his neck, trying not to lapse back into crying.

“Well, uuuh,” Kenma says, shifting uncomfortably. “You had a pretty good reason. Your… uh… our friends filled me in.” He actually looks Tetsurou in the eyes for a moment, then looks away entirely. “Unless they were joking, because… I can’t really… um… you know. See us dating.”

Tetsurou’s stomach lurches. “I’m not usually that pushy! Or clingy! I didn’t think… well I… I don’t…” He looks around the room. There’s some old food drying in the window and his notes are piled on his bed even as he uses it. “And it’s not usually such a mess! It’s just with… you know, everything with Tooru and… and then with you…”

He bounds out of bed and tries to clear the bed by shoving everything onto the floor in one swoop. Something shatters. “I don’t know why I thought that would help,” he says hopelessly. He whirls around to look at Kenma holding his hands out in desperation. “I’m not at my best right now, but I swear…”

Kenma is staring at him, clearly waiting for a chance to get a word in. Usually, by now, he’d have long interrupted Tetsurou with a very clear explanation for why… why he didn’t want to date him. Tetsurou feels himself tearing up as he falls silent, waiting for Kenma to find the words for the final blow. “I…” Kenma starts, swallowing and looking at his feet. “I just meant… that you’re… I mean you’re…” He’s blushing, Tetsurou realizes. “You’rejustinsanelyattractive.”

He says it all in one breath, crossing his arms and blushing hard. Tetsurou blinks at him. “Sorry?”

“You’re insanely attractive,” Kenma mumbles again.

Tetsurou can barely hear him, but he feels winded anyway. He collapses back onto his bed with a breathy laugh. “Oh,” he says. He’s shaking. “Right. I forgot.”

Kenma snorts ever so slightly. “You forgot,” he says, almost smiling. “I’m starting to see how we might be dating.”

“I swear I’m usually…”

Kenma waves a hand. He’s still blushing but it seems Tetsurou’s floundering has helped put him at ease, at the very least. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m willing to believe I didn’t date you for seven years by accident.” He chews at his lip for a moment. “It was seven years, right? The others seemed… uh… undecided.”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou says weakly, rubbing at his eyes before the newest batch of tears fall. “Uh… would have been eight this M-March.” Despite his best efforts that makes him cry again, sobs crawling up his throat as a choke.

Kenma’s hand settles on his cheek. He’s not wearing gloves. His hand is cool and solid against Tetsurou’s cheek, and it startles him back out of crying. Kenma’s thumb runs along the bottom of Tetsurou’s eyes. “Still will be, I guess,” Kenma says, wiping away a tear carefully. “Unless you feel like we should restart the clock.”

Tetsurou blinks at him. “You… you don’t have to…” he whispers.

“No, I… Now that I’m here and… know what’s going on… I…” Kenma looks away, his words dying down and starting back up in halting jerks. “I guess I feel something… uh… I’m just… really comforted by you. For some reason.”

Tetsurou sniffles and rubs his nose with the back of his hand. “Thanks,” he mutters. He must  look disgusting right now. “That helps.” He makes an attempt to pull himself together, but instead he has to bend forward to press his face into Kenma’s shoulder. “I just… I thought I lost you and then I didn’t but I did and… and we’ve always known each other. That’s our  _ thing _ and you’re acting like I’m a stranger and… and…”

Kenma freezes for a moment, then awkwardly slides his arm around Tetsurou’s shoulder. “Uh,” he says. “It’s ok?”

“N-not that I think you not knowing me is as bad as you dying, I j-just…”

“It’s fine,” Kenma murmurs. “Take your time.”

Whatever the circumstances, he still smells the same, and feels the same. The biggest difference is that his hair is brushing Tetsurou’s nose and the skin of his shoulder is soft against Tetsurou’s cheek. That, and the fact that he’s only lightly resting one hand on his back as Tetsurou cries. He should be hugging him close and rubbing his back.

“Can we…” Tetsurou pauses, unsure of how much is ok to ask for so soon. “Can we lay down together?”

“Um. Sure,” Kenma says softly, laying back. He glances at Tetsurou, waiting for him to position himself. Tetsurou shimmies down and nestles close to him. “Like this?”

“Can you put your arms around me?” Tetsurou asks.

Kenma hesitates and he’s a little stiff as he does it, but he wraps himself around Tetsurou. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou says, his voice cracking as he does.  

Technically, since they’ve known each other forever, or had known each other forever, this is his first first impression on Kenma. First holding his hand while he was unconscious, now hiccupping and smearing snot all over his shirt while Kenma awkwardly pats his hair. Great. “It’s softer than I thought it would be,” he murmurs, and that just makes Tetsurou cry harder.

The only thing he can think of to cheer himself up is that at least he can do this with Kenma still here. When he thinks of those moments of sheer terror, trying desperately to draw life back into Kenma by any means necessary…

Well, it makes it easier to calm down, weirdly enough.

Kenma twirls the locks of his hair around his fingers. “Mm,” he says quietly. “You seem to be doing better.”

“I’ll live,” Tetsurou whispers.

“Can I help somehow? What do I usually do when you’re upset?”

Tetsurou laughs weakly. “Pretty much just this,” he says.

“Ah,” Kenma murmurs.

Tetsurou sits up slowly. “I have a headache,” he mutters, sniffling heartily one last time.

“Not surprising,” Kenma says, sitting up beside him. “Where’s your fridge? Do you have any juice?”

Tetsurou points. “It’s there. I think Kou has some weird juice in there.”

Kenma opens up the mini-fridge. “Pomegranate,” he says. “Not exactly typical, I guess.”

Tetsurou snorts. “He likes to look for kinds he hasn’t seen yet. He thinks it’s exciting.”

Kenma smiles at that. “That’s cute.” He pours a glass for Tetsurou and hands it to him as he bounces back on the bed. “So… um. What do we usually do together?”

“Uh,” Tetsurou says. “We don’t really… do stuff together. I mean, we’ve always been together, so we do stuff. And often… we’re near each other… when we… I mean, we don’t have… like… couples activities, we just…” He huffs. “You know what, I have an extra screen somewhere here and one of your old game systems, let’s just play Mario Cart.”

Kenma frowns at him. “Play what now?”

Tetsurou stares. Stares for a long, long time. “Mario… Cart. Like the…” He shakes his head. “You don’t remember?”

“No,” Kenma says. “I didn’t just forget  _ you _ . The others had to tell me my own name as well.”

Tetsurou stares again. “Name a single video game,” he blurts.

Kenma shrugs. “Nothing, sorry.” Tetsurou bursts out laughing, which draws a smile out of Kenma. “You have a really ugly laugh,” he says softly.

“I’m finally going to beat you in a video game!” Tetsurou says, slightly hysterically. “Ohhhh, I can’t wait!”

He sets everything up in record speed and bounds back to sit beside Kenma. He has to explain the controls to Kenma, which is a fundamentally bizarre situation, but he gets to see Kenma’s little scrunchy face when he doesn’t get it at first. Tetsurou is nearly vibrating with excitement.

It is just as amazing as he expected. Occasionally Kenma’s reflexes help him out, but he’s trying to win by thinking things through, and he doesn’t remember any of his old tricks. But Tetsurou does.

“Oh my gods,” Kenma says, as Tetsurou cackles about beating him the tenth time. “I can’t believe you’d take advantage of your amnesic boyfriend like this.”

“Listen, I’m making up for years and years of you kicking my ass,” Tetsurou laughs. “I’ve waited for this moment all my life.”

“And I comforted you,” Kenma mutters, scowling at the controls. “Wait, what does this button do?”

“You can speed up with that.”

“Why would you not point that out earlier?”

“Because I am deeply enjoying this,” Tetsurou replies with a grin.

Kenma glowers at him. “You suck,” he growls.

Tetsurou points his tongue out at him. “Haaaaa,” he says.

Kenma slumps against his shoulder and Tetsurou’s breath is knocked out of him. “Fine. Let’s keep playing, I want to get good again. Being unbeatable by you sounds nice.”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou mutters. “Yeah, we can keep playing.”

And they do, game after game. Koutarou texts him a quick  **_You guys ok?_ ** at some point and Tetsurou can barely bring himself to let go of the controller to text back with one hand, the other wrapped around Kenma as he lays on his chest. It’s an odd blend of comforting normality, Kenma in his lap and playing video games and a constant ache every time Kenma calls him Tetsurou at the wrong times instead of Kuro.

They chatter back and forth, talking about things from their childhood. Tetsurou tells him about the time they went hunting for dragons in the woods and their days spent hanging around in trees. “You kicked me out of a tree once, you know,” Tetsurou says.

“No I didn’t,” Kenma mutters, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“You  _ did _ . It was so cruel, Kenma,” Tetsurou laughs, shaking his shoulder a little to jiggle Kenma. Kenma just gazes up at him grumpily.

“You know, this might not be permanent,” Kenma whispers finally, when they’ve lapsed into a comfortable silence.

“Wait, what?” Tetsurou says, sitting up a little too sharply and nearly dropping Kenma off his lap.

“I… I didn’t want to say anything in case you got your hopes up too fast,” Kenma mutters, looking away. “But um… Uh…”

“McCoy?” Tetsurou guesses.

“The furry guy,” Kenma says.

“McCoy.”

“Yeah. Well... he said… um... since Ushijima’s powers are a derivative of mine and mine wear off after a while, as far as we know, I could… you know… get everything back.” He looks ashamed. “I’m sorry I didn’t say so. I just wanted to see if we could… you know. Make this work.”

Tetsurou blinks at him. “Of course we can,” he whispers. He puts his hand on Kenma’s cheek and draws his face back to look at him.“It wouldn’t be the first work around we’ve needed.”

Kenma blushes, and Tetsurou can feel the heat in his cheeks. “I… about that. I know… it’s probably early, but if I could get my powers back at any time… we should… you know… kiss? Maybe? Now?”

“Oh,” Tetsurou wheezes. “I mean… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Trust me, I’m… I’m good. I…” He glances down at Tetsurou’s lips for a moment before dragging his eyes back up. “You really are… very attractive.”

“Oh,” Tetsurou says, like it’s the only word he remembers anymore. This isn’t exactly how he’d imagined them ever having a second try at their disastrous first kiss, but… “Alright. I guess. But then… uh… watch the hands. My uh… my powers blow up anything I touch, so if your powers kick back in that could be… bad.”

Kenma nods, making fists out of his hands and shows them to Tetsurou. He looks eager, if nervous, and that makes up Tetsurou’s mind for him. “Right. Ok. Um.” He puts one hand on the back of Kenma’s neck. They’ve done much more that’s more intense than kissing and yet…

He holds his breath and leans in, pressing his lips to Kenma’s. It’s awkward at first, like one of their quick pecks but longer. It’s not unlike their first kiss, if Tetsurou remembers correctly, except the world isn’t going bizarrely dark as it happens.

He tries loosening up a little and guiding his lips to slot against Kenma’s a little more comfortably, and once he starts moving Kenma does too, leaning forward to press Tetsurou back into the sheets. Kenma leans over him, fists on either side of his head and parts his lips.

Tetsurou mirrors the motions, opening up to lick into Kenma’s mouth and to let Kenma lick into his. The way he  _ tastes… _ Their movements are slowly getting hot and frantic, Kenma shifting against him, struggling to balance on clenched fists but still rolling his hips rhythmically as they kiss sloppily and hungrily.

Summoning up a bit of extra bravery, Tetsurou slips his hands under Kenma’s sweater, feeling along his smooth skin and up his back, then back down his ass, cupping it to draw it closer. He feels desperate and wild and he wants more, he wants everything Kenma could give him. He’s breathless and dizzy with the taste of it all…

… maybe a little too breathless.

… definitely a little too breathless.

Kenma pulls away with a startled, “Kuro!” and Tetsurou can’t bring himself to be relieved because he’s wheezing with the sudden exhaustion that hits him when he notices just how dizzy he is. Kenma tries to start off of him entirely, but instead ends up needing to steady himself on the desk. Fortunately, he only grabs a paper, because it promptly explodes.

Which sets off the fire alarm.

-X-

Somehow, Tetsurou doesn’t think  _ Well, you suggested it _ will help him much with Kenma, who is fuming silently beside him, hands tucked under his shoulders for good measure. They have to stay outside until the fire department okays the building, but that doesn’t mean Kenma couldn’t just storm off, and he hasn’t, which means he can’t be  _ that _ mad.

Or that he wants them to be in private again so he can tell Tetsurou off in peace.

“Kenma…” he tries, but Kenma whirls around to glare at him with an intensity that not even he has managed thus far.

“Don’t even,” he hisses. They’re far enough from the crowd that probably no one hears him. “I cannot  _ believe  _ you.” He shakes his head. “One day. You waited  _ one day _ before deciding it was a good idea to just… just make-out!”

“That’s not…!” Tetsurou starts, but Kenma cuts him off.

“How many times do we have to talk about this, Kuro?!” he yells. Kenma’s  _ yelling _ at him.  _ In public _ . At least two people are looking at them already. Kenma doesn’t seem to notice. “Why can’t you  _ ever _ think about how I’m going to  _ feel? _ Why is  _ everything _ .  _ Always _ . On.  _ Me? _ ”

“I’m sorry,” Tetsurou says, helplessly.

Kenma kicks at a nearby pebble. It flies nearly across the length of the building. Apparently his strength is back too. “I’m done,” he growls, and storms away, making this the third time that Tetsurou might have lost Kenma in the span of less than two days.

-X-

Yet again, Kenma slinks back into his room before he’s really had a chance to contemplate fully whether “I’m done” is a break-up kind of “I’m done” or an “I need a little breather” kind of “I’m done.”

“You’re an idiot,” Kenma starts, but he looks sheepish, if anything. He doesn’t look at Tetsurou, probably because he knows that seeing Tetsurou crying, yet  _ again _ is going to do him in and he won’t be able to stay mad at all. “But I guess… I guess I get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tetsurou tries again.

Kenma sighs and sits down like he doesn’t have the strength to do much else. Which makes sense, since it’s four in the morning and a little over twenty four hours ago Kenma was technically dead. “It just felt shitty, alright? Coming back to myself and feeling like… like it didn’t matter if everything that’s ever happened between us was gone, you still jumped at making out with me, you know? It felt like that sort of thing matters more to you than me. Than our history.”

Tetsurou can’t speak for a moment. Kenma didn’t stutter or stop once, which means he’s been practicing this speech for hours now, which means that this is really, really what he feels. Which is  _ unacceptable _ . “That is not true,” Tetsurou gasps. He can’t stop fucking  _ crying _ but now he’s mad too. “How could you think that?”

“What am I supposed to think?” Kenma cries.

“I wasn’t just  _ alright _ with you forgetting me!” Tetsurou yells back. They’ve never actually yelled at each other without getting drunk before. This is different. “Of course I wasn’t alright with it! But I kissed you, because I would do  _ anything _ with you, always! I want everything you could ever give me!”

“And what about when I can’t?” Kenma snaps. “What about now, huh?”

“What  _ about _ now?” Tetsurou growls. “We could kiss for a day, which was nice, but you didn’t remember me, which was only not the  _ worst thing that’s ever happened to me _ because you were _ dead  _ for thirty seconds, and now that you remember me, I honestly don’t  _ care _ if we can’t kiss again!”

“But you  _ want  _ to!”

“Of course I fucking want to! I told you, I want everything from you! That doesn’t mean what you give me isn’t enough!”

Kenma doesn’t have anything to say to that, just watches Tetsurou with wide eyes, breathing hard with fury.

“Kenma, if you told me, right now, that you wanted to climb Mount Everest with me, I  _ would _ .”

“That’s stupid,” Kenma mutters. “Why would I want to climb Mount Everest?”

“Ok, whatever. If you managed to convince me, somehow, that you wanted to climb… you know what… it’s  _ hypothetical, Kenma _ ,” Tetsurou snaps. “I  _ would _ . Because I would be so, so happy to do  _ anything _ with you. But hell, I’m not sitting here waiting for you to want to climb Mount Everest with me.”

Kenma watches him silently, still seething. “That is the worst explanation  _ ever _ , Kuro,” he growls.

Tetsurou throws his hands up in frustration. “I just mean that… that… I want everything from you but whatever you give me, literally…  _ whatever _ is enough. You’re enough. You’re more than enough. Just… the fact that you’re you.”

“I got it,” Kenma mutters. “I know how to understand your stupid explanations.”

“ _ Good! _ ” Tetsurou cries.

“You’re…!” Kenma yells, trying to think of a retort and failing. “You’re… good!”

“ _ Thank you _ .”

They sit in awkward silence.

“And just for the record I’m pretty sure that if we could kiss all the time I’d get really bored of it after a while,” Kenma huffs, crossing his arms. He huffs a little. “Maybe.”

“Well that sucks because it blew my mind,” Tetsurou growls back.

“Sorry,” Kenma says, still sounding angry.

“It’s  _ fine _ .”

“I love you,” Kenma mumbles, shifting a little to slump against Koutarou’s bed and glare at the floor.

“I love you too,” Tetsurou breathes, slumping back. He is thoroughly exhausted by now. “I might start crying again.”

“Please don’t,” Kenma says, crawling forward on his hands and knees to sit beside Tetsurou, plopping his head in his lap.

“Hold on, no,” Tetsurou says, shoving him back up. “Just a second.” He gets up, even though his whole body aches, and rifles through his sock drawer until he finds a pair of soft gloves. He sits back down beside Kenma. “Ok go.”

Kenma lays back down into his lap as Tetsurou tugs on the gloves and then buries his hands in Kenma’s hair. “I thought I lost you three times in the past two days,” he whispers. “And it sucked.”

“Three?” Kenma asks, frowning.

“I thought maybe you were breaking up with me,” Tetsurou murmurs.

Kenma rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispers, but his voice is soft and his hand settles on Tetsurou’s hip firmly.

“I almost lost it back there,” Tetsurou admits. “I mean, I’m supposed to be a doctor, but I almost… I almost forgot how to do CPR, and you might have  _ died _ because of it.”

“Oh my  _ gods _ ,” Kenma says, sitting up suddenly. He lets out a frustrated growl. “Ok, I know you’ve been awake for going on 50 hours now and I’m not doing much better but we’ve got to go murder Tooru.”

“Wait, what?” Tetsurou asks, blinking slowly.

“Not that I doubt your doctoring abilities,” Kenma says, sighing and running his hands through his hair angrily. “But I’m pretty sure felt something back there and I don’t think it was the CPR that brought me back.”

“Uh,” Tetsurou says, and he is admittedly way too tired to follow even a normal conversation, but this is going way too far over his head. “Near death experiences can be…  pretty vivid…” he tries, rubbing at his eyes.

Kenma shakes his head, as if to say he’s certain about what he’s saying. “Tooru brought me back from the dead somehow,” Kenma sighs. “And I don’t think he bothered to tell anyone.”

“No, he did not,” Tetsurou says, willing to believe just about everything right now, especially if Kenma says it. “Shit, he always goes quietest when something terrible is happening.”

“Exactly,” Kenma says, grabbing his jacket and dashing out the door, Tetsurou right on his heels.

-X-

“It is five in the fucking morning,” Iwaizumi growls when he opens his door. “I just got Tooru to sleep and…”

“Is Tooru here, then?” Kenma asks.

Iwaizumi stops, blinking at them and taking in their worried faces. “Yeah,” he says cautiously. “And hi, Kenma, I take it you’re back.”

“Yeah,” Kenma breathes. “Tooru failed to tell anyone something very important.”

Iwaizumi sighs as though he knew this was coming and opens the door far enough for all three of them to give Tooru judgmental looks.

Tooru’s still wrapped in Iwaizumi’s blanket, knees drawn up to his chest. He’s clearly just waking back up and he looks bleary and exhausted, but it’s more than that. Tetsurou isn’t sure how he could have been so distracted with Kenma that he didn’t notice just how bad Tooru looks. He looks beyond pale. Ashen, maybe. He’s shivering in a way that makes him look like a cartoon character that just stuck its finger into a light socket and is now staggering around after the electrocution. 

Tooru stares back at them for a split second, seeming like he’s contemplating trying to say he’s alright, before bursting into tears. “I just… I just wanted one day before dealing with it!” he chokes. “Everything keeps happening so m-much and s-so f-fast and… and I…” He collapses into muffled sobs, bringing his hands up around his head to shield himself.

Iwaizumi is across the room before either of them can move, pulling Tooru close and holding him tight. “Sssh,” he whispers. “Sh, it’s ok, that’s fair, but you need to tell me things. You know that.”

“There was something back there… something…” Tooru gasps, and his breathing is so quick Tetsurou worries he’s on the edge of a panic attack, if he’s not already having one.

“Hey,” he whispers, sitting beside him and stroking his calf soothingly. “Hey, it’s alright, you’re safe now.”

“Oh, gods,” Tooru whispers. “It was so much and it was in my head and it was… gods it was like being set on fire and… and I think Ushijima got some of it because he grabbed me and…” He’s saying everything in too much of a rush and he’s not taking breaths in between. Iwaizumi rocks him gently, shushing him, but Tooru’s expression is only getting more frantic. “He would have let me leave if I’d just refused, I think, b-but…  but…”

He trails off into a few terrified sobs. Iwaizumi hugs him a little tighter. “It’s alright Tooru, it’s alright, it’s not your fault.”

“They would have hurt Hajime,” Tooru wails. “Th-they would have hurt him and I… I… I couldn’t and I… I d-don’t know what I called up back there b-b-but I gave Ushijima that kind of… of p-power and I’m… I’m sss-so s-selfish and…”

He drops the attempts to speak in favor of trying to breathe, but it’s not going very well. He wrenches in halting gasps every so often but he loses each of them to a series of sobs that sound like they hurt in their intensity. Iwaizumi leans over to tug his legs into his arms as well so he’s cradling Tooru as he rocks him. Tetsurou shifts aside to let him.

“It’s ok,” Iwaizumi murmurs, stroking at the base of Tooru’s neck. “It’s alright. You didn’t have to be scared alone, you should have told me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tooru chokes out. 

“It’s alright. Ssh, it’s alright sweetheart, don’t worry. We’re going to get through this together, alright?”

Kenma prods Tetsurou’s shoulder, beckoning at the door. Tetsurou nods and they shuffle outside to give Iwaizumi and Tooru a moment alone. Tetsurou watches Kenma as they go, and once they’re alone the relief of having Kenma by his side overwhelms him again. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend and squeezes.

Kenma returns the hug, arms laced together behind Tetsurou’s back, and they stay there like that until Iwaizumi slides out of the room, shutting the door behind him. “Whatever happened to him back there,” he says shakily, “It was fucked up. I’ve never seen him this freaked out before. He hasn’t stopped shaking since we got him back.” He rubs his hand over his face. “What are we going to do about Ushijima?”

“We’ll keep an eye out for signs he’s mobilizing, I guess,” Kenma says. “I don’t think he wanted to be subtle about it.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “Do you think he’ll come for Tooru again?”

Kenma shakes his head. “I got a flash of his memories when we touched. It’s not in his nature. If anything, he might ask again if Tooru wants to be with him if they run into each other, but he’s not the type to force himself on anyone.”

Iwaizumi chews at his lip. “You sure? Tooru’s asleep now, but maybe it’d be better if we took him back to the Institute.”

“I can carry him, if you think,” Kenma murmurs. “But really, it wouldn’t be like Ushijima to go after Tooru now.”

Something about the wording reminds Tetsurou of Iwaizumi’s opinion on how Tooru’s never been like this before, and something deeply unsettled rises in his gut. “Kenma. Carry him to the Institute, alright?”

Iwaizumi chews at his lip, clearly relieved that Tetsurou made the decision for him. Kenma frowns at him in question, then nods. It doesn’t help with the sense of foreboding that lingers in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Ok. 
> 
> I want to say now I'll stop with any Kuroo angst but I think my earlier promise still stands... no more hurting Kuroo...................................................... directly. (But also Kenma's off the table for this story. No more hurting Kenma.
> 
>  
> 
> Directly.)
> 
> Next week: If I don't get at least one "I hate you" or "how could you do this to me" after next week's chapter I'm gonna be disappointed. Ushijima... continues to wreck things, poor thing, this time including himself. And his loved ones. And just. Man.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Phoenix,” Satori says, quietly. Too quietly. “He must have gotten a little of its power back there after all. Told you we should have killed someone closer to Oikawa.”
> 
> “What are you talking about?” Eita asks.
> 
> “The short guy, with the long hair. The one who died,” Satori murmurs, flicking some rubble off the wall. “Must have been enough. Look at this. He wasn’t even trying and he pulled this wall in half.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I changed my update schedule and I'm breaking it already but there's a superstition in Hungary that what you do the first day of the year you'll continue for the rest of the year and I would like to be yelled at for being horrible all year long.
> 
> Content warnings are all spoilers, so they are in the end notes. Nothing we haven't seen before, though possibly a little more intense.

“What’s with that long face, Eitaaaa,” comes the grating voice that Eita’s been dreading all morning. It doesn’t seem to matter to him that he clearly can’t tell what face Eita’s making, because he’s currently stuffing it into his pillow.

He feels blanker than usual, numb and nauseous, and he is not up for sex at all.

“Thought you’d be celebrating for once,” Satori says, far too jovial for the situation, bouncing onto Eita’s bed uninvited. “Maybe even crack a smile.”

Eita shoves himself up to sit across from Satori. “What does it matter to you if I’m smiling or not,” Eita grumbles.

Satori shrugs. “You get kind of boring when you’re all sour all the time,” he says.

His annoyance at Satori doesn’t make him feel as alive today, which makes it all the more frustrating that Satori is hovering around, failing to do the one thing that Eita tolerates his company for. “Not everything is for your entertainment,” he growls.

“Sure it is,” Satori says, swinging his legs like a child. “Anyway. You finally got to kill your biggest enemy. Wasn’t it everything you’d ever hoped for?”

Eita looks down at his hands, fanning out his fingers as though to prove they’re still attached to him. They don’t always feel like his own, and today they’re buzzing with a sort of deadened staleness.  _ Why wasn’t it enough?  _ “Not really,” he says, finally.

“So  _ greedy _ , Eita!” Satori laughs. “What if we find the rest?”

Eita looks up at him. What if they do? Will every time be as disappointingly empty as this one? It’s not as though Eita is going to become whole again from revenge. He’s always known that, but he thought he’d given up on being whole. Today he’s frightened he might start craving it again. 

“Maybe,” he says weakly. He wishes, for a moment, that Satori was an actual friend, instead of someone who happens to be suitable for the ways Eita tries to self-medicate and someone who would likely crack his head open just as easily as he’d do as Eita asks. Eita wonders if he’d pretend if Eita asked nicely. He probably would, if only so he can laugh at how pathetic Eita is, but Eita isn’t sure.

It would be nice, sometimes, given how much time they spend together, how much Eita relies on him to keep going, if they could have a real conversation. 

But Satori isn’t here for a conversation. Satori could give a damn about the fact that Eita is frightened that the only thing that gives him so much as a shadow of hope might be a fantasy that will only make him feel deader in the end. He’s here for one thing, just like everyone else that Eita hates. The only difference is that Eita can tell him when to come and go, when to stop and what he wants. Usually, that makes it feel better, but not today.

He doesn’t want it today, but he doesn’t want to be alone either. “How do you want me,” he whispers.

Satori scrunches his nose up. “I don’t want to have sex with you if you’re gonna be all mopey,” he says.

For a terrifying moment, Eita thinks he might cry. It would be awful to cry over Satori leaving, especially with Satori here to see it. “Then get out,” he croaks.

“Come on, Eita,” Tendou whines. “No one else will talk to me about Shounen Jump.”

“I don’t care about your stupid manga either,” Eita mumbles. He can’t seem desperate or Satori will use it against him, but he hopes he’ll stay. Maybe Satori isn’t his friend, but at least Eita won’t be left here alone with the emptiness in his head.

“Well, too bad, because all you’re doing is moping around anyway,” Satori says, bouncing back to the headboard.

“Fine,” Eita snaps, throwing himself back into the covers and crossing his arms as Satori launches into a long tirade about some character or other.

-X-

“Where’s Wakatoshi?” Eita asks as he rummages for leftover food after dinner. Shirabu and Kawanishi are still playing cards at the dinner table. Eita suspects they are both cheating.

“I haven’t seen him today,” Shirabu says. “It’s weird, he had a meeting early with a business partner, but I guess Reon filled in for him after he didn’t show.”

“Did Reon talk to him?” Eita asks.

“Don’t think so,” Kawanishi says. “Maybe he’s tired.”

“Probably still angsting about Oikawa,” Shirabu says bitterly. “Don’t see what’s that great about Oikawa in the first place.”

“He’s powerful,” Eita says.

“So?” Shirabu grumbles. “Ushijima is better than him.”

Kawanishi smirks. It’s too obvious what Shirabu feels about Wakatoshi.

“I’ll go check on him,” Eita says. “It’s not like him to angst about anything.”

He grabs a few pastries and eats them on the way. As disgusting as it feels to admit it, Satori spending the day with him to talk about his dumb obsessions has helped his mood a little, and he doesn’t feel as awful as he pads down the halls to Wakatoshi’s room. 

He knocks on the door, but there’s no response. Eita frowns. He tries the handle. It’s open, so Eita pushes it open. Ushijima’s living quarters are split into two parts, an office near the hall and a bedroom further back. The office is empty, but it looks at though it was ransacked. The desk is overturned, lamps and plants lay shattered on the floor.

Eita swallows, trying to prod outwards with his powers to inspect the situation, but the feedback is so loud and hot and confused that he has to pull back and stop reading. “Wakatoshi?” he whispers, sliding the door open, having to force it to push aside a shattered chair. “Wakatoshi.”

He inches towards the bedroom. The bedroom door is cracked open, literally, and Eita wonders if he should leave and come back with Goshiki, but he can’t hear any movement. He presses the door open with the tips of his fingers. “Wakatoshi?”

Wakatoshi is kneeling on the floor, shoulders slumped and breathing hard. When Eita steps a little closer, he looks back over his shoulder. He doesn’t even look like himself. He looks scattered, enraged, his eyes on fire. At first, Eita thinks it’s a trick of the light. Wakatoshi’s eyes often appear to glow when the light hits them just right, but now… now they really  _ are _ glowing. “Get out,” he growls.

“Wakatoshi, what h-” he starts, but before he can get it out, Wakatoshi is on his feet, swinging at him so hard that he rips a chunk out of the wall above Eita when he slides down, just in time. 

He doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles onto his hands and knees and then takes off running, slamming the office door behind him and not stopping until he gets to the other side of their small island. He finds a staircase to sink down onto and try to catch his breath, holding his hands over his head, a protective gesture he’d learned as a child.

He wasn’t supposed to need it here. 

“Eita?” a voice calls.

_ Nonono _ , Eita thinks. Not now. Not him. Not when Eita is still trying to get control of the situation, not when he’s still crying.

“What’s with you?” Satori asks, squatting down in front of him.

It’s a deluded fantasy, but fortunately, Satori is so hard to read that Eita can almost pretend he looks like he cares, and just for now, Eita can’t deal with anything else. “Waka-Wakatoshi,” Eita stutters. “He almost hit me.”

“Wakatoshi?  _ Our _ Wakatoshi?” Satori says, tilting his head like he doesn’t believe Eita. 

“Yes!” Eita cries, grabbing onto Satori’s wrist. Does Satori really think he’s hiding here sniveling and shaking over a lie?

“That’s not right,” Satori murmurs, standing up. He doesn’t shake Eita’s hand off, so Eita squeezes harder.

“It happened! I’m not… I don’t know what I did, but…”

Satori shakes his head. “It wasn’t you. Something’s wrong,” he says. “Stay here.”

He turns to go, and Eita grits his teeth. He might be crying like a frightened child, but that doesn’t mean he needs to be treated like one. “I can handle it,” he growls, dashing after Satori.

Satori sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Do what you want. But come on.”

The door to Wakatoshi’s room is gone by the time they get there, along with Wakatoshi himself. Shirabu and Reon are whispering to each other urgently a ways down. 

“There you are,” Shirabu says. He frowns at Eita. “What happened to you?”

Eita rubs at his eyes. “Nothing,” he says. “Where’s Wakatoshi?”

“Took off. He went wild, I’ve never seen him like that.”

“Something must have happened,” Reon says.

“The Phoenix,” Satori says, quietly. Too quietly. “He must have gotten a little of its power back there after all. Told you we should have killed someone closer to Oikawa.”

“What are you talking about?” Eita asks.

“The short guy, with the long hair. The one who died,” Satori murmurs, flicking some rubble off the wall. “Must have been enough. Look at this. He wasn’t even trying and he pulled this wall in half.”

“You’re saying…” Shirabu says, narrowing his eyes.

“It was too much for him after all,” Satori says. “All that power… though he couldn’t have gotten much more than a fraction of it without us noticing. Must have been just one second.” He puts his hands on his hips, and Eita must be going insane because he swears Satori looks worried. Sad, even, as though he’s hurt by the thought of Wakatoshi losing his mind, rather than just disappointed that his most powerful playing card is out of commission. 

“Where’s he going?” Reon asks.

“Well, he can’t think straight,” Satori says, smiling as though it’s a bittersweet thought. “He’ll follow his heart.”

“His heart?” Shirabu asks, as though he’s never heard of such a thing.

“He’s going after Oikawa,” Satori says. “Oh, Wakatoshi-kun, you beautiful idiot.”

-X-

“So,” Akaashi says, arms crossed, as they sit in the living room of the Institute. “What you’re saying is that Ushijima is going to kill all the people involved in the sex trafficking ring of his family’s mob.”

“Yes,” Kuroo says.

Akaashi shrugs. “Alright. Let him.” From where he’s sitting, arms wrapped around Akaashi’s waist, Bokuto’s eyes flicker up at his boyfriend. Hajime can tell that he doesn’t agree, but he stays silent and nuzzles a little closer, like he’s trying to tell Akaashi that he has the deciding word between the two of them here, even if he’s being scary. Akaashi pats his head absently.

“He’s not stable,” Tooru murmurs. He’s curled up in a blanket, his head in Hajime’s lap. “He’s too obsessed with his father’s legacy and he’s been absorbing people’s memories without having an outlet. Maybe he’ll stop there, maybe he’ll go on a rampage.”

“Well,” Akaashi says with a shrug. “I don’t mind dealing with that as it comes. He’s only picking off a few rapists first. I can give you a list, if you like, of people I know are guilty.”

“You’re being vindictive, not logical, and you know it,” Tooru murmurs. He still looks awful, but not quite as shell-shocked as yesterday. The rings under his eyes are concerning, as well as the fact that every one of his smiles today have been as pasty and plastic as can be, but the tremors are dying down slowly. Hajime brushes his bangs out of his eyes. He worries Tooru might be running a little warm.

“I think I’ve earned that,” Akaashi says, crossing his arms and staring Tooru down.

“Maybe. But if we’re going to decide we need to think about this objectively,” Kenma says quietly. “You didn’t let me kill Lev when I thought he’d killed Kuroo, either.”

“That was different,” Akaashi snaps. “He was obviously a kid and I wasn’t going to risk letting you kill an innocent…” Kenma raises an eyebrow as Akaashi trails off, eyes narrowing. “Point taken.”

“I agree with Tooru, what Ushijima wants to do might be… ethically debatable, but not  _ bad _ , per se, but we can’t know if he’ll be able to stick to the plan.”

Akaashi sighs, shoulders slumping. “Fine. I’ll be pragmatic, but I’m not happy about it,” he grunts. Bokuto kisses his hip.

“The Professor will be back from Ireland tomorrow, maybe then we can…” Suga starts, but before he can get very far, he stops and frowns at Tooru in nearly the same moment that Tooru’s shaking starts back up again. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“No, “ Tooru croaks, pushing himself up and curling into the corner of the couch. 

“Tooru, what…” Hajime says, but Tooru covers his head, shaking like a leaf. “Tooru?”

“Oh, gods, I don’t… I can’t feel it again, I can’t,” he whimpers. Hajime tries to pull his hand away gently to ask what’s going on. Is it just a stress reaction from yesterday or is he sensing something new?

“Ushijima,” Kenma whispers, leaping to his feet. “He must be sensing Ushijima.”

Hajime looks up, ready to ask what Kenma’s talking about, but Kenma is already gone, dashing towards the front hall. Kuroo leps after him. “Shit,” Hajime whispers, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Shit, if it’s Ushijima, he’s…”

“He’s here for Tooru,” Suga says, confirming Hajime’s worst fears. Hajime’s stomach flips. What more could Ushijima possibly want from Tooru that he hasn’t already taken with enough force to tear Tooru apart? “There’s a room behind the Danger room, it’ll probably be safe.”

“W-wait,” Tooru says, gasping for breath as they try to tug him to his feet. 

He stares at Hajime with wide, teary eyes. He’s starting to look as terrified as yesterday, though his eyes aren’t quite as glassy and unfocused. Hajime wonders if maybe yesterday’s tremors weren’t entirely from stress. Tooru had talked about something being  _ in _ him, what if it had caused some kind of physical damage? 

“Wait,  _ Kenma _ ,” Tooru manages, snapping Hajime out of his thoughts. The look on Tooru’s face terrifies him. If Tooru runs into the thick of things in the state he’s in, who knows what will happen to him.

“Kenma will be fine, he won’t make the same mistake twice,” Suga says calmly, before Hajime can react. “Come on, you’re in no state to join a fight.”

“It’s not Ushijima,” Tooru says. “You don’t understand, it’s not Ushijima, it’s… whatever that was…” He stumbles to his feet, shaking his head. “No, it’s him… but that’s what’s driving him and I’m the only one that felt it, I’m the only one who knows…”

He nearly falls over and Hajime hauls him up by the waist. “Which way?” he asks Suga.

“Down the back hall,” Suga says, then stops, going pale. “Kageyama,” he  breathes, just as the front door is smashed to smithereens. “Take him, I need to stop Kageyama from… whatever it is he’s planning, I know that mood of his...” He says. “It’s down the hall, the door with the keypad, the code is 4-7-8-5.”

Tooru kicks against him as Hajime pulls him over his shoulder, babbling about whatever it is he felt, and most of the furniture in the room moves with them as Hajime drags him along, but Hajime isn’t going to stop until he can make sure Tooru is safe.

It’s difficult with Tooru’s powers dragging them back, but Hajime has nearly made it behind the kitchen to the hall without a hitch. He’s just passing the doorway when he catches sight of Ushijima. Ushijima stares back, eyes glowing. Something makes him seem like he looms even taller than he did before, something animal and dark about his presence. 

The walls around him are all shattered. Kenma is currently picking himself out of the rubble. Akaashi creeps up behind him, clearly formulating some kind of plan, but before he can get very far, a large, purple blast-like wall sweeps him off his feet. “Ushijima-san!” cries a very loud and very brash voice.

It belongs to a black-haired, very bold figure, who clearly has not come to terms with the fact that whoever Ushijima is usually, this Ushijima is about as well-meaning as a rabid dog. The trust in his eyes, so naively ignoring the beastly look Ushijima has about him, freezes Hajime in his tracks. Tooru’s breath catches as well.

Ushijima is still moving slowly, and that’s perhaps the only thing that keeps him from turning back and lunging forward to smash his own underling in one swoop before another shout of “Tsutomu, what are you  _ doing _ ?” interrupts them.

Another person, one who Hajime recognizes as Semi Eita, rushes up behind him and drags him away before Ushijma makes a pancake out of him, directing him instead to help take out Kuroo, who was about to blow up an entire chair, from the looks of things. While they escalate the chaos in the front hallway, a taller person with wild red hair slides into Tsutomu’s place with a great deal more caution.

Tooru takes the moment that Hajime spends distracted by the array of intersecting events to untangle himself from Hajime’s arms, but Hajime catches his arm and tries to drag him back. “Hajime, his mind is  _ burning _ ” he hisses, as Hajime pulls him around to face him. “He can’t think, he’ll kill everyone, I have to…”

“Waka,” says the lanky guy, with a sort of pleading in his voice. Tendou, if Hajime remembers what Shimada told them about Ushijima’s crew right. “Waka, listen to me.”

Tooru freezes, and so does Ushijima, if only for a moment. Tooru stares at Tendou, and his eyes go from horrified to pained in a single blink. Ushijima’s face, however, doesn’t change, his shoulders jerking with small growls.

“If you’re in there, Wakatoshi, you have to know this isn’t you,” Tendou says, raising up his arms cautiously, like he’s approaching a wild animal.

Ushijima lets him, and for a moment it seems like he might listen. Tooru falls back ever so slightly, as Hajime tries one more time to tug him away. It seems like things may settle, but Hajime needs Tooru to be safe, regardless of what happens. Ushijima’s arm drops a little, and Tooru takes a step back, almost turning to go with Hajime.

But then something shifts. It’s easy to miss, but Ushijima’s posture changes. His dropped hand twitches, and Hajime realizes it’s not so much dropped in a gesture of calmness, but dropped into the perfect position to swing up at Tendou. Tendou’s eyes go round with a soft,“Oh,” as he realizes, at the same moment that Hajime and Tooru do, that Ushijima means to to crush him.

He doesn’t try to avoid it. Hajime nearly jolts with the blow, but it doesn’t fall. Instead, a huge beam of blue light erupts from nowhere, knocking Ushijima into the back hallway. “Shit,” Hajime hisses, then  _ “Shit, _ ” when he sees Kageyama dash after Ushijima. 

“Tobio,  _ no _ ,” Tooru shouts, running after him, Hajime helplessly grasping after him.

Tendou remains, petrified and forgotten, on the other side of the kitchen. 

Kageyama tries with another blast, but this one doesn’t have the element of surprise, and Ushijima manages to stand and push against it. Kageyama gasps, stumbling back, and Ushijima lunges at him the moment his beam breaks off, but this time Tooru is the one who knocks him off his feet. 

It doesn’t take long before Ushijima is standing again, pushing at Tooru’s powers, though that takes him considerably more effort.

“Tooru, don’t…” Hajime starts, but Tooru throws him back with a single flick of his hand.

“Wakatoshi!” Tooru calls. The strain that holding Ushijima is having on him shows in his voice. “Try to think! You’re destroying meaninglessly, you’re hurting your own people! This is not what you wanted!”

Ushijima snarls. “You,” he growls, sounding like something that’s just learned words. “You should have been  _ mine _ .”

Tooru shakes his head. “No, I shouldn’t be yours, and you know it! You said you wouldn’t force me.  _ That _ was who you are.”

Ushijima only roars, and Tooru raises his hand with a determined look on his face. 

From where he’s laying, Hajime isn’t sure what Tooru is doing, but he’s sure that it’s taking a toll on Tooru. Blood drips from his chin and he’s shaking. If he keeps this up for long, it’ll push him into a seizure, or worse.

“Tooru!” he cries, trying to struggle to his feet.

Tooru just pushes him back again, shaking with effort. Ushijima shakes his head wildly. He’s trying to shut Ushijima down mentally, but Hajime can’t tell if it’s working, because Ushijima is still pushing forward, closer… closer… 

Something finally seems to snap, and Ushijima collapses. The push of Tooru's powers dies down, and Hajime is running towards him already. He can tell from here, though, that stopping Ushijima has taken too much out of Tooru, who stumbles with exhaustion. Something more than exhaustion. 

Time seems to freeze as Tooru falls to his knees, and it crawls forward only in lurching, quivering gasps in the spaces between Hajime's thundering heartbeats. He launches forward, catching Tooru as he falls. Tooru slumps into his arms, eyes finding Hajime's. Hajime can see the goodbye in them, but he only grips harder, cradling Tooru's head desperately. "No, no," he protests, the words coming out shaky and breathless. "No, you're gonna be alright."

Tooru's hand slides along his sleeve, trying to grip it, but too weak as Tooru fades, blood dripping from his nose. So much blood. "Tooru, please, come on, baby, please, just hold on, you're gonna... You're gonna..." Hajime pleads, like a lost child, rocking himself and Tooru, his breath coming out in whines as his body panics with the realization that his mind refuses to accept. "You're fine. You're fine."

Tooru's mouth shakes as he tries to say something, but it drops closed quickly, Tooru's eyes rolling back as he tries to keep his head up for just a second longer. "Come on sweetheart." Something horrid is clawing its way up Hajime's throat. "Come on, it's not so bad." He tries to press his hands to Tooru's nose, to stop the bleeding, as though that will help, but he pulls back when he realizes it's too late, it's too late. "Please, please, Tooru, don't do this to me."

Tooru has never been very good at doing as he was told, certainly not when it was for his own good.

His head falls back even as Hajime continues to beg. And gods, does he beg. He begs long after Tooru's heart has stopped beating, begs until the words don't mean anything, until they swirl into a storm and the animal clawing its way out of his chest breaks free in a horrible scream. 

It's the sort of scream that would send everything running for its life, the scream of something rabid being torn to shreds, but it's not even the tip of the iceberg, isn't even a flutter compared to the shrieking suffering that stays inside. He pulls Tooru's body close as it slowly goes still in his arms and roars, as if that might it might breathe just a second of life back into Tooru.

It doesn't. Tooru stays dead, and Hajime stays in agony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Death. Also mentions of dubious consent in that, while verbal consent is given, it is not particularly meant. However, this doesn't lead to sex in the end.
> 
> ANYWAY. What a way to kick off the year! 
> 
> Next week: That's it folks. He's dead. The rest of this fic is just Iwa going on a revenge-murder spree. I just decided to kill off the main character and
> 
> I'm kidding. He's back next chapter I swear. 
> 
> (Also this isn't so much for next week but if you think that's it for death scenes then lol)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hauls Tetsurou to his feet and steers him back to the kitchen, sits him down, handing him a hot mug and cupping his thick fingers around Tetsurou’s own to steady his hands. Tetsurou just stares down at the mug. “Kenma?”
> 
> “Keiji’s handling it,” Koutarou says. “I think he needed someone, you know… even keeled. Or maybe just a little mean, because I think he’s pushing him into a cold shower to calm him down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: mentions of suicide/suicide watch (they're pretty quick, though)
> 
> Edit: if you want real pain, you can read the first half of this while listening to [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxQLNxFA1Mg) I used while writing the death scene and these scenes

Now that Kageyama has gotten Ushijima into the back hallway, Tetsurou eyes the situation in the front hallway for a moment.

It’s three against two here. Tetsurou wonders if he should make a break for it and help Kageyama with Ushijima, but Keiji is distracted by the fact that Koutarou is present, even if he’s managed to sneak him into a back room before doubling back around to help them.

They’ll just have to finish this quickly. 

It shouldn’t be all that hard. The boy Semi had called Tsutomu has extremely impressive powers, what Tetsurou guesses are physical manifestations of psychic energy, which can slice through the air in long purple streaks with terrifying speed and precision. But he’s also distractible and slightly overwhelmed by the fact that there’s so many of them. A few well placed cherry bombs and Kenma will be able to grab his powers again.

Semi himself is sliding out of the fight. His powers aren’t suited for offense, but he calls out warnings for Tsutomu from the sidelines.

Tetsurou has a few buttons in his pocket after the last time. It had been his best idea, other than pebbles. He reaches for it, but this time Tsutomu is prepared for this move. They’d used it last time too, when they’d fought against him.

A quick blast hits Tetsurou in the chest, knocking him off his feet. Tsutomu doesn’t hesitate before leaping to strike against, but Kenma throws himself in the way of this one, barely sliding back with the force of it. He starts moving forward, but he stops suddenly as blood drips from the shoulder Tsutomu had hit.

“Kenma!” Tetsurou cries, as Kenma stumbles.  _ No _ , Tetsurou thinks, panic rising.  _ Not again. _ He stumbles to his feet, reaching for Kenma.

“Tetsurou!” comes Keiji’s voice, sharp, from the other side. “Stop!”

Tetsurou stops and everything jolts into a different picture. His hand is dangerously close to Kenma’s face, and Kenma looks as bewildered as Tetsurou feels, but he’s still in one piece.

They blink at each other.

In the doorway of the kitchen, the third of Ushijima’s men (was it Tendou? The one who’d taken Tooru in the first place? Tetsurou can’t remember all their names) stands still, staring at Keiji for a moment. Tsutomu blinks at him, as though he’s not used to hesitation from Tendou.

“Let’s go,” Tendou says, finally, his face unreadable.

“What?” Semi blurts.

“It’s over. He’s gone. Let’s go,” Tendou says, voice toneless.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Semi cries.

Tsutomu stands frozen, as though he’s forgotten they were fighting at all.

“He’s gone!” Tendou repeats in a snarl. “Now  _ let’s go _ .”

He steps forward, giving Keiji a look, as though he knows that the only one who’s still unshaken enough to stop them is Keiji. Keiji just frowns at him, but he doesn’t move as Tendou wrenches Tsutomu out of the room. Semi gives him an unreadable look as well, then dashes after his companions.

Tetsurou blinks and steadies himself. “What just happened?” he asked.

“I believe you both saw something that wasn’t real,” Keiji says slowly.

“He didn’t show you anything?” Kenma asks, shaking his head. He looks at Tetsurou, then smiles a little in relief. Tetsurou can’t help but wonder what it is he saw.

“No,” Keiji murmurs. “No, when he saw me, he gave up immediately.”

Kenma frowns. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Keiji says. “I’m more concerned what he meant about Ushijima being gone. Do you think Kageyama-kun killed him?”

Tetsurou sighs. “Let’s go find out.” He smiles at Kenma. “By the way, thanks for catching that blow for me, kitten.”

Kenma gives Tetsurou a small smile in return. “You know, we make a pretty good team,” he murmurs.

Tetsurou is about to lean in for a quick peck, but then he catches sight of Kageyama. The sheer shock on his face speaks volumes. “Kageyama?” 

Kageyama doesn’t look up. 

“Ushijima,” Kenma breathes. “Where is he, did you…?”

“Oikawa-san… took care of him,” Kageyama whispers, and then collapses against a wall and sinks down.

Tetsurou dashes forward to feel his forehead. He’s cold and clammy. “Get him a blanket,” he snaps at Keiji.

“Tooru,” Kenma murmurs, looking around for Ushijima’s destructive trail. 

“I’ve got it,” Tetsurou says. “I’ll check on him, in case he’s hurt. Wrap Tobio up, give him something warm to drink, alright?” He ruffles Kageyama’s hair and stands up.

Kenma nods, and Tetsurou jumps to his feet, following the wreckage into one of the back halls.

He can hear Iwaizumi from here.

It’s not hard to connect the dots.

“Oh gods,” he whispers, heart plummeting into his feet.

Iwaizumi’s choked cries are frantic and high pitched. When Tetsurou manages to stumble a little closer, he can see the body clutched in his arms and the way he’s rocking back and forth with a frenzied fervor.

“No,” Tetsurou breathes, staggering around to look at Iwaizumi’s face and the manic look of despair on it. Tooru is still in his arms, his head clutched too tightly to Iwaizumi’s shoulder for him to breathe. If he was breathing. “Nonono.”

Tetsurou tumbles to his hands and knees and palms desperately at Iwaizumi. “Oh gods,  _ no _ ,” he croaks.

Iwaizumi kicks at him as though Tetsurou is trying to take Tooru’s body away from him. 

“No, Tooru, Tooru!” Tetsurou cries, tears blurring his vision as he scrabbles at Iwaizumi’s hands where they’re close around Tooru like a vice. “He can’t be dead, he can’t be!”

Another whine breaks out of Iwaizumi’s throat and then he doubles over, pulling Tooru with him and letting out a horrible cry. Tetsurou collapses onto his back, pulling him into something like an embrace, but more than anything just trying to find something to hold on to.

He hears footsteps pounding down the hall and there’s a frightened whisper of “Kuro” but Tetsurou can’t see Kenma through his tears. “No,” Kenma says, startlingly loud. “Let me look at him.”

He tries to pry Iwaizumi away and Iwaizumi roars, pushing him away. Tetsurou falls away in a daze as they tussle. “He’s not dead, just let me see him!” Kenma yells.

It feels surreal. Any second now, Tooru will sit up and tease them all for being so worried, because this can’t be real. Kenma is yelling and Kenma doesn’t yell. Iwaizumi is losing his mind and Iwaizumi doesn’t lose his mind. Tooru is dead and  _ Tooru shouldn’t be dead _ .

Kenma manages to wrestle Iwaizumi away and stares down at the corpse with a paralyzed look. “No,” he whispers, voice laden with more emotion than should ever be there. “No, Tooru.” He lays his hands around Tooru’s face. Iwaizumi is laying on the floor, sobbing. Tetsurou feels like he’s left his body. Kenma’s face crumbles, and he gives a horrified shout, shaking Tooru with a sort of wildness.

Tetsurou isn’t sure where Keiji came from but he’s glad that he’s there because  _ someone _ should be prying Kenma’s kicking and screaming person from Tooru before he hurts someone.

Akaashi’s voice is even as he pulls Kenma away, but he’s crying too.

Tetsurou doesn’t really understand what’s happening anymore.

He sits and stares at the wall, listening to Iwaizumi’s whining gasps until Koutarou arrives, shaking him a little with a hand around his shoulder.

“Hey,” Koutarou whispers.

It’s so wrong. Koutarou doesn’t whisper and Kenma doesn’t yell and Iwaizumi doesn’t keen like a dying dog and Tooru shouldn’t be dead.

“Hey, Tetsu, look at me,” Koutarou murmurs. “Hey. You’re cold. There’s some hot chocolate in the kitchen. Come on.”

“Iwaizumi,” Tetsurou croaks. “I can’t leave Iwaizumi alone.”

“Suga’s gonna take care of him, but he can’t deal with both of you at once,” Koutarou murmurs. “Come on, you’re always talking about shock. We gotta get you warmed up.”

He hauls Tetsurou to his feet and steers him back to the kitchen, sits him down, handing him a hot mug and cupping his thick fingers around Tetsurou’s own to steady his hands. Tetsurou just stares down at the mug. “Kenma?”

“Keiji’s handling it,” Koutarou says. “I think he needed someone, you know… even keeled. Or maybe just a little mean, because I think he’s pushing him into a cold shower to calm him down.”

“How is Keiji?”

“Like shit,” Koutarou says with a lopsided smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll sort each other out afterwards. I think you and Kenma were closer to Oikawa, Kenma living with him for so long and all.”

“Ushijima?” Tetsurou tries, his head spinning through everything, anything so he doesn’t have to think about it.

“He’s alive, but he’s out cold, don’t worry. Suga says we’ll probably keep him in stasis or whatever until we figure out something better.”

That’s that, then, Tetsurou realizes. He stares at the froth on the edges of the mug, sadness seeping into his bones.

“He was my best friend,” Tetsurou manages, finally “Outside of you guys. He… he was…” Tetsurou’s voice cracks and his vision blurs. “He just brought things to life. And he made me laugh and he made me think and… He was so smart and so good and… And no one’s ever going to be like him again.”

“I know, babe,” Koutarou whispers. “I know.”

Tetsurou is silent, but he manages a sip of hot chocolate.

“It’s weird, I feel sadder than when I thought you were dead, somehow,” Koutarou says. “Like, one of those deadish sads, that doesn’t drive you crazy, it just… you know? I didn’t even know what I felt when you were dead. Or not dead.”

“Physical evidence, probably,” Tetsurou murmurs. “Your mind is more convinced he’s dead.”

Koutarou hums. 

“How do we move on from this?” Tetsurou whispers. “How are things gonna be after this?”

“I don’t know,” Koutarou replies. “Really sad for a while.”

“Oh, gods, what about Iwaizumi?” Tetsurou chokes.

“He’ll probably consider killing himself,” Kenma murmurs from the door. His hair is wet and his eyes are red-rimmed but he seems to be a little calmer. “I did.”

“What,” Tetsurou says, swinging around.

“I was going to wait until after your funeral, but by then I’d decided against it. I’ll talk to him and try to convince him to do the same,” Kenma says. He’s looking at his feet and Tetsurou is sure that if he were to look at any of them he would lose it again. “I doubt he’ll ever be over this, but maybe…” He coughs, as though he can’t get another word out without collapsing again.

“Kuroo,” comes Suga’s voice. “I need another doctor. Kiyoko’s on her way, but help me out for a second.”

Tetsurou wobbles to his feet and joins Suga, who looks more exhausted and frustrated than Tetsurou would have thought possible before now. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Suga snaps. “I’m dealing with more grief than should ever be concentrated in one damn house and now…” He groans, rubbing at his face. “I’m sorry, this is all a lot. I need your help.”

“Is Iwaizumi…?”

“He fine. Physically, anyway, mentally and emotionally I think he’s past the point of a breakdown, but that’s not…” Suga takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “The corpse is running a fever.”

“What,” Tetsurou says blankly. 

“ _ Oikawa _ . He’s not losing body temperature, he’s gaining it!” Suga shouts. “He’s not breathing, he has  _ no pulse _ , but he’s running a fever, and Iwaizumi is losing his mind about it!” He pauses, nearly vibrating. “ _ I’m _ losing my mind about it!”

“He has a fever,” Tetsurou intones.

“Yes,” Suga says, his voice betraying a sort of aggression that is far scarier than any horror movie villain. “Yes, Oikawa, it seems, can’t even  _ die _ like a normal person. He’s dead… and he’s got a fever.”

“Wait,” Tetsurou says, holding up his hand. “Kenma came back, too, why not…”

“Oh, not you too,” Suga groans. He grabs Tetsurou’s arms a little too tight and shakes him. “Listen, I’ve got a grief induced lunatic to deal with, a house full of concentrated emotional pain that I have to listen to, and  _ a corpse that is running a fever _ . Now you are the only adult medical professional in this house who is has  _ any emotional stability left at all _ and I need you to give me  _ reasonable  _ explanations!”

“What reasonable explanation is there for a corpse to run a fever?” Tetsurou hisses.

“I don’t  _ know _ , but I have got the crazy undead conspiracy theory  _ covered  _ by the madman in our back hallway!” Suga yells.

Tetsurou shrugs desperately. “I have nothing! I have no reasonable ideas.”

“Okay,” Suga says, leaning his head on Tetsurou’s chest. “Okay. No. That’s fine. It’s fine. Let’s go, and share in the delusion of a man going through the denial stage of a grieving process on steroids. It’s fine!”

“I proposed it independently,” Tetsurou mutters. “So it’s… kind of…”

“Look,” Suga says, clapping his hands together and pressing them into his face to steady himself. “I’m not really at my best right now. At certain volumes, being able to sense a breakdown isn’t really all that different from just having a breakdown yourself, so quite frankly, if you’re not going to try to offset the madness going on here, I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up.” There is something manic in his voice that is utterly terrifying.

“Alright,” Tetsurou whispers. “I’ll try.”

“Thanks,” Suga says, with a viciously polite smile.

-X-

When they return to the hallway, Iwaizumi is frantically performing CPR. On a person who has been dead for more than an hour. Tetsurou is starting to understand Suga’s hesitation to listen.

“Iwa… Iwaizumi,” he says softly.

Iwaizumi’s head shoots up. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks… well, like a lunatic, though Tetsurou is pretty sure that’s not the proper technical term. “Listen,” Iwaizumi says desperately, fumbling his way to standing and holding his hands up. “Listen, he’s reached 39 degrees, that’s.. That’s legitimately a fever. A high one. And we know… we know the… whatever it was that was summoned… was a fire thing, he… he said that, right, so maybe… maybe…?”

He shoves his hand in his hair and pulls. “I mean… Kenma. Right, Kenma? It could… maybe there’s a chance...” He looks down at the body and tugs at his hair frantically.

“Ok yeah, it sounds less believable when he says it,” Tetsurou whispers. Suga nods as if to say  _ Told you _ .

“ _ Look _ ,” Iwaizumi says, with a sort of terrifying blood in his eyes when he turns to look at them. “I know. I know how grief works. I know. He was my everything, and now he’s gone, and I can’t… I can’t. Maybe I should have let him make his plans while he was still alive and telling me what his requests were for dying, I don’t know, but I couldn’t then and I certainly can’t now.”

His breaths are scattered and he looks about ready to tear into several little pieces. “But unless this is all a hallucination, which…” He giggles desperately. “... it may be, but… something is going on here and we just had a resurrection a few days ago, and  _ honestly _ , I just… get me a defibrillator. It’s not like I can do  _ any more damage _ ,” he shouts, pointing at Tooru’s motionless form.

“I don’t know if this is denial or bargaining anymore, but I do know you’re prolonging it,” Suga mutters. 

Iwaizumi wheezes with something that can’t truly be called a laugh. “I’m at rock bottom here, I can’t get any worse either. Actually, you know what, I’m beyond rock bottom. Rock bottom was getting back after leaving for less than an hour and finding out that my boyfriend was snatched out from under my nose. This? It’s not getting worse than this, so just… get me a… goddamn…”

“He makes a point,” Tetsurou says.

“Alright, let me  _ think _ , I cannot remember  _ any  _ of my psychology classes,” Suga says scrubbing at his face.

“It’s this or jumping off the nearest…”

“ _ Now _ he should be on suicide watch!” Suga cries. “If this were a hospital we’d be working on how to institutionalize him without letting him get hurt and instead we’re giving him a pair of heart stopping electricity paddles?”

“Then let Kuroo do it, I don’t  _ care _ , just…”

There’s a massive gasp behind them and then a series of spluttering coughs. All three of them turn and stare as Tooru jerks and struggles for breath. Iwaizumi nearly falls over as he scrambles to help Tooru sit up, supporting his back. Suga and Tetsurou rush to do the same.

Tooru wheezes and gasps wildly, a shaking hand slipping over his chest. “Oh, gods, I think…” Iwaizumi whispers. “Your ribs are probably cracked, gods…”

“What…” Tooru manages, and then collapses into hacking coughs again, struggling to pull in a proper breath.

“I’ll get water,” Suga says, dashing off towards the kitchen.

Iwaizumi rubs at his back while Tetsurou does his best to keep Tooru’s weight steady and off of his ribs. 

“What happened?” Tooru wheezes.

Iwaizumi laughs like a rabid hyena. Tooru blinks at him, concerned. “No, it’s fine,” Iwaizumi squeaks. “It’s fine, it’s just you were dying and then kidnapped and then clearly traumatized and then  _ dead _ and here you are… asking… what happened… you’re just… I just… it’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is  _ fine _ .”

“I was dead?” Tooru croaks. Iwaizumi can’t stop laughing, so Tooru looks to Tetsurou for answers.

“Uhhhhh,” Tetsurou says. His brain is faulting. “Well.”

“What is going on?” Tooru asks, as strong as he can manage with his ribs and his hoarse throat.

“No one knows!” Iwaizumi shrieks. “No one knows, Tooru, because you… you are just…” He collapses back onto the floor and giggles. “No more. I can’t take more, okay? You gotta… you gotta stop. With the… death and the… I am… I need a break.”

“I think you’re having one,” Tooru murmur, rubbing at his temple. He’s nursing his chest and he looks a little unsteady, but if anything he looks better now than he did before dying. “And Kuroo, I don’t know how you are managing to scream in your head but please stop.” He pats Tetsurou’s knee carefully and then clambers on top of Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan… Hajime. It’s alright. Take a deep breath.”

Iwaizumi manages to tear a long gasp into his chest, but it ends up coming out as a bunch of sobs. Tooru is shaking too, but he manages to drape himself around Iwaizumi and hug him tight, talking through it.

Kenma comes flying through the door, literally, and grabs onto Tooru and shakes him. “Don’t ever do this again!” he shouts, shaking Tooru.

“Why are you yelling me?”  Tooru cries. “You’re the one who died first!”

“I don’t care! If you ever die on me again I will murder you myself!” Kenma roars.

“What?”  Tooru yells back.

Iwaizumi is at least sort of calming down but he’s still giggling on the floor. Somewhere in the distance Koutarou is shouting a lot of questions at Keiji, who is uncharacteristically loud in his replies. Tetsurou’s brain is still yelling. 

Tooru shuffles away from Kenma and covers his ears, until finally he snaps, throwing down his fist and yells, impressively loud, “Everyone calm down!” the doors and windows rattling threateningly. He winces and rubs at his ribs. “You’re all giving me a migraine.”

There’s a chorus of worried voices and then a slow dying down of the roaring murmurs. 

“We’ll wait for Kiyoko to deal with your ribs,” Suga murmurs. “I’ll see if I can find something to calm Iwaizumi down.”

Tooru nods, hauling Iwaizumi’s head into his lap, Iwaizumi holds onto his knee like a small child and Tooru bends over him, whispering softly. Tetsurou feels it’s time to leave them to themselves, but he can’t quite get over seeing Tooru after being so certain he never would again. He wraps his arms around Tooru and squeezes.

“You’re my best friend,” Tetsurou whispers. “That’s not a boyfriend, I mean.”

Tooru chuckles. “You’re my best friend too. I’m sorry I scared you.”

For a moment, all of this seems too easy. Too neat. Too simple. 

“Calm down, Tetsu-chan,” Tooru murmurs, nudging his head against Tetsurou’s cheek comfortingly. “I think this is more than enough for us to deal with, there’s no reason to be pessimistic.”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou murmurs. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m so glad you’re ok.”

Tooru smiles at him as he lets go, then turns back to play with Iwaizumi’s hair. They look like always, like two halves of a whole or a matching set, just as it should be, but Tetsurou’s unease won’t abate. 

-X-

“What now,” Kenma murmurs when he sees Tetsurou in the kitchen, finishing off his hot chocolate. 

“I just… this all feels… too easy?”

Kenma sighs. “Ignoring everything else we’ve been through up until now, we have a telepathically comatose mob boss in our basement and all his superpowered henchmen are still out there, we’re not exactly riding off into the sunset,” he murmurs.

“I  _ know _ , but… Tooru  _ died _ . And then he just pops back up, good as new, no questions asked? Better, even. You saw what a mess he was before all this, you think that’s just… it?”

“Yes?” Kenma says. “Maybe whatever happened to bring him back fixed… whatever happened to him back on the island. I mean, you didn’t ask a lot of questions when I came back, and it was the same thing that must have done it. ”

“You lost your memory.”

“For a day. Talk about a budget resurrection.”

“ _ And _ whatever Tooru went through back there!” Tetsurou adds quickly. He groans and leans back in his chair. “I’m just worried there’ll be a catch and we’re not going to see it coming.”

Kenma sighs and sits in his lap. “Let’s be real, if anyone deserved a freebie like this, it was Tooru. His last stroke of pure luck was meeting Iwaizumi when he was  _ one _ .”

Tetsurou sighs. “You make a fair point.”

“I’m worried about him too,” Kenma murmurs. “You know he’s practically my brother at this point. But honestly I think what he needs most is a break. And  _ we _ need a break too. I’m not saying we ignore everything and stop looking out for him, I’m just saying we shouldn’t get frantic about it.”

“You’re so cool sometimes, Kenma,” Tetsurou murmurs, letting Kenma hug him closer. “I just don’t want to lose Tooru again.”

“Promise he’ll be alright and then he will be,” Kenma says with a small smirk.

“You know I can’t make a promise I don’t feel good about. It’ll destroy the magic,” Tetsurou whines.

“Cheapskate.”

Tetsurou hums.

“You owe me fifteen games of unfairly won Mario Cart, by the way,” Kenma murmurs.

“Oh, I thought that was payment for the ten years you knocked off of my life when you died back there.”

“Nnno,  _ that _ was payment for the time  _ you _ apparently died and took ten years off of  _ my _ life.”

Tetsurou grunts. “Fine. I’ll let you beat me in Mario Cart fifteen times.”

“First of all, you don’t have to let me, I  _ will _ beat you in Mario Cart fifteen times, whether you want it or not.” Tetsurou snorts into Kenma’s shoulder. He’s cute when he gets competitive. “Second of all, I said  _ unfairly  _ won Mario Cart. You abused my amnesia, and  _ I  _ want to try out a certain new  _ toy _ that we discussed…”

Tetsurou straightens up. “ _ Oh _ ,” he breathes. “Oh, The blue one?”

“Uhuh,” Kenma says, with a small smirk.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Tetsurou whispers. “Alright.”

Kenma smirks and kisses his nose lightly.

-X-

The lingering worry doesn’t go away, but Tetsurou has to admit, nothing  _ seems _ wrong. Tooru takes the next few days to curl up with Iwaizumi in Tooru’s bed and whisper to each other, laughing about something. Iwaizumi’s utter exhaustion fades, and after a while he’s able to let go of Tooru for long enough that Tooru can talk to Suga about the Ushijima situation.

“I don’t think they’ll bother us again,” Tetsurou hears Tooru telling Suga. “In the chaos it was hard to get a good read on them, but I think they figured out it wasn’t Ushijima anymore, not really. They won’t be back unless they find a way to fix him.”

“You don’t think they’ll want revenge?”

Tooru shakes his head. “No. They know he would have taken responsibility for things going wrong,”  he murmurs.

“Are you blaming yourself?”

Tooru laughs a little, slightly bitter. “I guess. It’s weird. I don’t really understand why, but… I wanted things to work out for Ushijima. Not his plan, I mean, just… in general. I feel like if I would have refused him maybe he would have chosen a different approach. A better one, maybe.”

Suga hums thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

“I don’t know. It’s just hard to feel good about putting someone into an indefinitely long coma. I didn’t kill him, per se, but…” Tooru sighs, looking up from where he’s been picking at his socks.

He catches sight of Tetsurou, standing in the doorway. “Kuroo!” he gasps. “I need to talk to you!”

Tetsurou blinks. “Me?”

“Yeah!” Tooru says excitedly. His face gets nervous a moment later, though. “I need your help.”

“Alright, shoot,” Tetsurou says, shuffling over to the table.

“I need you to help me break something to Kenma.”

Tetsurou raises an eyebrow. “What?” he asks warily.

Tooru blushes and pulls a bit of fluff from his sock. “I… you don’t have to be so suspicious,” he mutters. Suga raises his eyebrows and smiles. “I just… ok, gods, this is my first time saying it out loud, but…”

Tetsurou’s nerves almost get the better of him, but Tooru’s intense blushing makes this seem more like a personal thing than something dangerous, so he allows himself to lean forward conspiratorially with Suga. “Yes?”

“I’m moving out!” Tooru blurts. Tetsurou blinks, startled. “There’s no way Hajime and I will be able to finish this semester after all the time we took off, so… so we’ll have some free time… and… we can go apartment hunting and… and it’s a terrifying thought but I want to live with Hajime so I… I’m moving out!”

There’s a moment of startled silence, and then Suga gasps and grins. “Finally!” 

Tooru grimaces. “I haven’t told Iwa-chan yet. But I know it’s going to be sad not living with Kenma after so many years and I’m sure it’ll be even worse for him, and…” He waves his hand phlegmatically. “Anyway, I just don’t want to upset him. But… but I think Hajime needs this, and… and I think maybe I… need it?” He sighs. “But I’m looking for places nearby, I want to be here to help out often.”

“I’ll tell him,” Tetsurou says.

Tooru breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Now I just have to tell Hajime…” He groans. “What if he doesn’t want to live with me anymore? It’s been so crazy lately I don’t know what’s going on…”

“Hey,” Tetsurou says, slinging an arm around Tooru’s shoulder. “I see you guys hanging out under the covers and giggling all day. He wants to be with you. And after everything, he needs it more than ever.”

Tooru sighs. “You’re probably right,” he murmurs. “I just…”

“No buts,” Tetsurou says.

“I didn’t even say but!” Tooru snaps.

“The thought was there,” Tetsurou says with a grin. “Don’t worry so much about what Iwaizumi wants or doesn’t want without even asking.”

Tooru groans. “Fine, fine, I’ll… I’ll talk to him like a normal person. But if he’s all like,” he makes a grumpy face that surprisingly does look like Iwaizumi’s scowl. “‘Tooru I’ve spent the past several months having an extend nervous breakdown because of your shit, and now you want me to get straight to moving my life for you, how dare you’ then it’s your fault.”

“Yeah, it’s going to be more like ‘holy shit Tooru you died in my arms and I’m so glad we get a second chance and I would gladly drop everything to set up a life with you,’” Tetsurou says. 

“Promise?” Tooru mumbles.

“Promise,” Tetsurou laughs, giving Tooru an encouraging shove as he slinks out of the kitchen.

“They grow up so fast,” Suga says.

-X-

“Do you ever think about moving in together?” Tetsurou blurts. Kenma is sprawled out over his stomach with his DS.

“Depends on Keiji, I guess,” Kenma says. “But you know I do.”

Tetsurou hums thoughtfully.

“Tooru’s moving out, isn’t he?” Kenma says quietly.

“What?” Tetsurou tries. “No, I didn’t… yeah.”

Kenma hums as well. “Well, it was time.”

“You’re ok with it.”

“Logically yes. We knew we’d get our own places eventually. And I’m sure he’ll be nearby and we’ll see each other a lot. It won’t exactly destroy our friendship to be further than one bed away.”

Tetsurou tries to slide over subtly to see Kenma’s face. “And… emotionally?”

Kenma suddenly drops his game to cover his face with a loud sniffle. 

“Oh, baby,” Tetsurou whispers, gently guiding Kenma over to crawl into his arms, sprawled on top of him with his face tucked into Tetsurou’s shoulder. Tetsurou tugs up his hood for him and pulls him close. “Oh, it’s alright. I know it’s a big change.”

Kenma nods, shaking slightly. 

Tetsurou kisses the top of his head and lets him cry it out.

Kenma sighs as he sits up. “I feel ridiculous. He probably won’t be more than fifteen minutes away.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still not the same room. It makes sense to feel sad,” Tetsurou says. “But you’re right, I think it’s time. It’ll do him good.”

“Hajime will definitely be relieved.”

Tetsurou chuckles. “Yeah, he needs this.”

Kenma nods, but after a little while he pulls his head up and narrows his eyes at Tetsurou. “What?” Tetsurou says, feeling like he’s being accused of something.

“Your suspicion is getting to me too, now.”

Tetsurou blinks up at the ceiling. The nervous shadow that’s been coiling in his gut since Tooru came back rears its head again, encouraged by Kenma’s words. “Let’s hope it’s just us being cynical assholes.”

Kenma hums, then ducks back down to nuzzle his head into Tetsurou’s chest. “You sure are a sappy cynical asshole, though,” he murmurs.

“Well, one of us has to be.”

Kenma shakes his head. “Just feels like we’re bouncing back to normal really fast. Like you said.”

“Nah, come on,” Tetsurou says, staring at the ceiling. “It’ll be fine.”

“Promise?” Kenma murmurs, his eyes sharp as he looks at Tetsurou.

Tetsurou opens his mouth, as if to say  _ Of course I promise, _ but nothing actually comes out, and he and Kenma lay there in silence, the threat of an unmade promise lingering in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo and Kenma, setting the mood.
> 
> Next week: Kuroo and Kenma are wrong and Oikawa and Iwaizumi live happily ever... wait shit there's 7 more chapters of this thing? Why did no one tell me?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah,” Hajime breathes. “Yeah, ok.” This is really happening. He’s shaking, he realizes, when Tooru takes his hand and squeezes. “We’re moving in together.”
> 
> Tooru lets out a breathless giggle. “Yeah, we are,” he says, nuzzling closer to Hajime.
> 
> “Sounds good, Iwaizumi Tooru,” Hajime whispers, relishing the way that Tooru’s face burns red as a furnace as he flails and covers Hajime’s mouth with his hand with embarrassed moan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up! I've got a test to fail on Monday (I mean... I hope to not fail, but. Y'know.) so I have no idea how much time I'll have for posting until Tuesday, so... better early than late, I think. (Why do I even have an update schedule?)
> 
> This chapter made me cry as much as the chapter in which Kuroo was dead. I'd encourage you all to try writing while bawling like a baby because it is An Experience.
> 
> The only content warnings are vague mentions of prostitution, not in an angst context, though (just... given this story's previous content... I'm just saying.)

After more than twenty years of trying, Oikawa Tooru has maybe succeeded in breaking Hajime. When Hajime comes back from a very long and very needed hot shower, Tooru is nervously chewing at his sweater, and Hajime’s first words are, “Oh gods, what?”

“Nothing!” Tooru says, and Hajime would be able to tell that he’s just embarrassed if he weren’t so twitchy.

Is this what new parents feel like? Like they’ve got a fragile, beautiful human being to take care of and they’ve just noticed how much of the world is deadly to people? Gods,  _ anything _ could be the next thing to kill Tooru. He could choke on milkbread. The refrigerator could fall on him. Hajime wants to wrap him in bubble wrap and feed him only soup for the rest of his life.

“Iwa-chan, calm down, I don’t need to eat soup for the rest of my life,” Tooru says, taking his hands and squeezing. “I just want to tell you something… ask you something? It’s nothing bad, I promise.”

Hajime sighs and straddles Tooru’s lap. He lays his palms flat on Tooru’s back and holds his breath for a moment while he listens to Tooru’s and then takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says. “I know. I’m good.”

Tooru nuzzles against Hajime’s ear and holds him closer. “Do you still want to move in with me?” he says, oddly hesitant. 

Hajime pulls back, frowning. “Of course,” he says. “Why are you asking like you’re not sure?”

Tooru sighs and lays back, pulling Hajime with him. “I just… a lot has happened and maybe you want to rest before… you know, apartment hunting and moving and… buying furniture and everything.”

“All that stuff happened to you, dum-... Tooru,” Hajime reminds him. “I would think  _ you’d _ need a break.”

Tooru shakes his head. “Actually, I feel really energized. I guess resurrection comes with an energy boost,” he says with a grin. Then he huffs. “But it didn’t fix my knee. It’s still stiff.”

Hajime buries his face in Tooru’s chest. “What about mentally?”

Tooru shrugs. “I don’t know. Everything that’s happened lately… it feels like… like it all happened to someone else. A someone else who happened to be me, but… someone else. I guess it feels like all that’s behind me, and now… I just want to start a new life with you.” He pauses, then adds, in a rush, “But only if you’re ready to drop everything and do it with me!”

“Stupid,” Hajime says. “You are everything to me. And I thought I’d lost you forever, so no, I don’t want to waste a second of our second chance.”

“Okay,” Tooru says, with a shaky smile. He lets out a breathy laugh. “You’d think that after dying once I’d be less scared of something as simple as moving in with you!” He drops the smile and gazes at Hajime honestly. “But I don’t know what I’d do if we screwed this up.”

“I think we’re past the worst of it,” Hajime murmurs, stroking Tooru’s cheek. “Whatever life throws at us from here, I think we’ve proven we can handle it together.”

Tooru smiles up at him. “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he says. “You are the bravest, strongest man I have ever seen and I can’t believe you’d choose to be with me.”

Hajime can feel his blush blowing out the last few remaining fuses in his brain. “Shut up,” he mutters.  _ I can’t believe you’d chose to be with  _ me _ ,  _ he wants to say, but he can’t quite summon up the courage. He hopes Tooru heard it anyway.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says innocently. “Has that sort of coarse language ever worked on me?”

Before Hajime can protest, Tooru is rolling them over, Hajime clutched firmly in his grasp, and starts planting slobbery kisses all over every bit of skin he can get at, occasionally crying things like “So incredible!” and “So patient!” while Hajime tries to yell him down with increasingly flustered cries of “Oi!”

Eventually, Hajime’s flailing gets Tooru to nearly slide off the bed. Hajime’s heart lurches and he grabs Tooru’s head before it hits anything. Tooru laughs, righting himself, gently prying Hajime’s numb fingers from his head and rubbing his thumb over Hajime’s palm comfortingly. “It’s alright, Iwa-chan,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Gods, I feel like death is just waiting for you. Like… like those Final Destination movies.”

Tooru bursts out laughing with enough force that Hajime ends up laughing too. “Well, we’ll baby proof our apartment,” he says. “Pad every corner… I’ll eat things only with wooden spoons from now on, so I can’t trip and fall on any chopsticks or knives that could poke out my eyes.”

“I can’t believe you’re making fun of my completely understandable emotional reactions,” Hajime says. “Mean, Tooru.”

Tooru gasps. “Oh no! Have I become the brute?”

“Yeah. You need to be gentle with my fragile heart,” Hajime says with a little pout.

Tooru gasps dramatically and kisses his nose. “That was so sweet, Iwa-chan!” He grins, flopping down so his head is on Hajime’s shoulder. “What we need is a bigger bed.”

Hajime can already imagine it, a nice big bed in a bedroom bearing both their posters and trophies and books, covered in sheets they picked together… the thought has him on the verge of tears again. It’s been an impossible dream for so long, but it was never snatched out from under him quite so firmly as when Tooru was dead in his arms… and yet here they are, planning it anyway.

“Geh?” Tooru cries, head snapping up at the first sniffle. “What?!”

“We’re going to pick out sheets together,” is all Hajime manages to say before bursting into tears.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, after a moment of silence. “Is this a fetish or yours or something?”

“Mean,” Hajime responds, and he gets a gentle whisper of  _ so I have become the brute…  _ before Tooru hugs him tightly again.

-X-

“Alright, so I have a spreadsheet,” Tooru says, sitting down with his laptop beside Hajime.

“What? It’s been like… a day!” Hajime says, trying to peek over Tooru’s shoulder. 

Tooru shrugs him away. “No spying Iwa-chan, that’s not nice!”

“It’s for  _ our  _ apartment, stupid,” Hajime says, wrestling him out of the view. It’s a magnificent spreadsheet of recent apartment listings, complete with a log of all the jobs Tooru’s done at the Institute and campus and, weirdly enough, a log of all the jobs  _ Hajime  _ has done on campus and at his uncle’s restaurant, which he only remembers telling Tooru in passing. “How old is this?” he asks.

“Kinda… pretty…. Old. It’s an ongoing project, alright?”

“Oh my gods,” Hajime says, pointing at the title before Tooru manages to nudge him away. “You titled it Iwaizumi Tooru!”

“I was twelve!” Tooru cries, which only makes Hajime grin harder and him blush brighter. “Shut up! It was just a fantasy!”

“Such a detailed fantasy! And you kept updating it for what, the past… eleven years?”

Tooru folds in on himself. “Oh, gods, I’ve been really in love with you for so long now, and I just…”

Hajime grabs him by the back of the neck and kisses him hard. “If it makes you feel any better I have a few pictures of you with Iwaizumi Tooru scribbled on them.”

“Not Oikawa Hajime?” Tooru mutters. “How egotistical of you.”

“Well, clearly, it’s what you wanted too,” Hajime laughs, nodding at the spreadsheet.

“Shut up,” Tooru mumbles. “You’re the worst. And Oikawa Hajime would be a nice name too.”

“You really were just scared that moving in together wouldn’t work out, huh?” Hajime says, brushing Tooru’s hair out of his face.

Tooru nods. “I still am.”

“You’re silly,” Hajime murmurs, pulling him in for a cheek kiss.

“Anyway,” Tooru says. “I’ve estimated we can cover a deposit and about 6 months rent with my savings and a bit of yours. That should give us enough time for the semester to start and for us to get TA jobs that would cover the rent of the first ten apartments on here.”

“Six months?!”

“I’ve been saving for eleven years, Iwa-chan,” Tooru mumbles. “I thought it was a crazy dream, but I took it seriously.”

“Clearly,” Hajime says, scrolling down a little to check the prices. “And these are the most recent listings?”

“I just updated them,” Tooru says. “While I was building up the nerve to tell you.”

“Wow,” Hajime says. “Okay. I hadn’t even… fully come to terms with the idea yet.”

“It’s not coming on too strong, right?” Tooru asks, pulling a pillow into his lap and hugging it tight.

Hajime laughs. “You always come on too strong. I like you that way.”

Tooru bites his lip nervously. “Anyway, I figure we can spend the week scheduling visits and then we can…”

“Yeah,” Hajime breathes. “Yeah, ok.” This is really happening. He’s shaking, he realizes, when Tooru takes his hand and squeezes. “We’re moving in together.”

Tooru lets out a breathless giggle. “Yeah, we are,” he says, nuzzling closer to Hajime.

“Sounds good, Iwaizumi Tooru,” Hajime whispers, relishing the way that Tooru’s face burns red as a furnace as he flails and covers Hajime’s mouth with his hand with embarrassed moan.

-X-

Hajime seriously underestimated how exhausting apartment hunting is. They’re about two apartments in, and the owners are bombarding them with the excellent qualities of the apartment so aggressively that Hajime can barely think. This lady is making the whole apartment sound like the garden of Eden and Hajime would just like to get a fair assessment of the pros and cons here.

Tooru tugs him closer. “I’ll charm this lady while you check out the apartment, deal?” he whispers.

Hajime snorts. “Deal,” he whispers back.

Tooru puts on his brightest smile and ushers the owner into the kitchen, asking brightly about the refrigerator and launching into some benign story about ice cubes with such grace that the owner seems to forget that Hajime is even there. He shakes his head with a smile and sets to work surveying everything from noise level to piping.

By the time Hajime gets back, Tooru is laughing with the owner, who is thumbing at her wedding ring absently. Hajime clears his throat. “We really should be going,” he says.

“Oh, you’re right,” Tooru laughs, though the owner seems profoundly disappointed.

When they’re alone, Hajime bursts out laughing. “I feel like I’m prostituting you,” he laughs.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says seriously. “That’s an excellent idea. Look at me, we could make millions.”

Hajime pinches him in the side. “Like a million yen would be enough for me to be alright with other people touching you,” he says.

“So possessive,” Tooru says. “How much would it take?”

Hajime thinks for a moment, humming for show. “A billion yen.”

“No!” Tooru cries. “You’re supposed to look me in the eyes and whisper,  _ Tooru _ … all the money in the world couldn’t convince me to let anyone touch you. You’re all mine, Tooru!” He finishes by throwing himself over Hajime, who takes this as an opportunity to wrap his arms under Tooru’s legs and haul him up against a wall. 

“You are all mine,” Hajime murmurs. Tooru shivers as Hajime leans in to kiss him. The air is hot around them and Tooru’s breath hitches when Hajime pulls back and looks at him. 

And then drops him. “But a billion yen is a lot. I’m just being practical,” he says, while Tooru shrieks.

“So mean,” Tooru murmurs, righting himself and dashing after Hajime to take his hand. 

“So, where to next, Iwaizumi Tooru?” Hajime asks.

“Are you going to keep calling me that forever,” Tooru mutters, red stretching all the way down his throat. 

“Yep,” Hajime says happily.

Tooru smiles a little at that. “So mean, Iwa-chan.”

“Hm,” Hajime says. “Doesn’t this make you Iwa-chan too?”

Tooru stops short and gawks at him. “No,” he says, horrified.

Hajime grins and summons his most obnoxious voice. “Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan!” he cries. Tooru screams and tries to cover his mouth while Hajime keeps up his chanting. They keep it up, until Tooru stumbles and Hajime remembers the street nearby and suddenly jerks forward to steady Tooru with an iron grip.

Tooru pauses, then pries his hands away, taking them instead into his own. “Iwa-chan, it’s alright,” he murmurs. “The street isn’t that close or that busy, I’m not going to fall into traffic.”

Hajime nods, but he can’t stop thinking of it now, of Tooru stumbling while they were scuffling and falling right under a moving car. His brain volunteers all the gorey details, too, as if to make sure that Hajime is left shaking in Tooru’s grasp. 

“Come here,” Tooru murmurs, pulling him in for a hug. “It’s alright. I’m here, I’m alright.”

Hajime clutches him tight and breathes in his scent. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Tooru says. “Come on, let’s get lunch and then we can go to the next apartment.”

“Alright,” Hajime whispers into his shirt. “Lead the way, Iwaizumi Tooru.”

“Honestly, this is so unfair,” Tooru whines. Hajime kisses his jaw in response.

-X-

They go through about 10 apartments in five days before they find one they both like. It’s at most fifteen minutes away from the Institute. The rent is on the cheaper end of Tooru’s list, and most of the furniture is already included. It’s small, one living room in the front, a kitchen, a walk in closet, one bedroom and a bathroom across from it. 

It’s on the top floor of a fairly tall apartment building, so Hajime figures they can probably see the stars from their bedroom window. The landlord steps out for a moment while they look around to take a phone call, and Hajime uses the chance to find Tooru, in the kitchen. “We could set up a telescope in the bedroom, if you wanted,” he says.

“Mhmm,” Tooru says, standing awkwardly on his toes, gripping the edge of the table and staring down at it.

Maybe a few months ago, Hajime would have accepted that as just Tooru being strange, but now Hajime suddenly panics at the odd display. Tooru looks up at him. “Sorry, Iwa-chan,” Tooru laughs. “I’m not having a seizure or anything, I’m just noticing that this table is exactly the same height as my hips.”

“So?” Hajime asks. His heartbeat slows, but only reluctantly.

“So, it’d be perfect for me to fuck you on it,” he says brightly.

Hajime groans. “Idiot.” He stares down at the table and frowns. “That seems uncomfortable.” 

“Aww, Iwa-chaaaan, we’ll get a pillow for your empty little head!” Tooru giggles, grabbing his head and scrubbing at his hair. Hajime bats him off with a growl and glares up at him. Tooru’s eyes soften. “Are you alright, Hajime?”

“Yeah,” Hajime breathes. “Sorry, I just… my brain is looking for things that could happen to you.”

“I know. It’s alright,” Tooru says. He sighs. “Are you sure about this? Maybe it’d be better for you to rest after all. We can always move in together later. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I think once we live together and I’m used to that I’ll feel better.  Besides, if I wake up and you’re not next to me I think I’ll panic, so we’d basically be moving into one of our rooms anyway.”

Tooru smiles. “Alright. I just want to be sure, because... I like this place. I could see us living here.”

Hajime grins back at him. “Me too.” He pulls in Tooru’s face for a soft kiss.

-X-

They sign the lease a week later, and start on boxing up their things. They’re too eager to do it one by one, so they end up on speakerphone with each other as they sift through their things, laughing about the relics of their childhood that still hover around their rooms, a few origami frogs from Tooru at Hajime’s, a bug encased in plastic from Hajime at Tooru’s, stacks of letters written to each other while Hajime lived in Miyagi and Tooru lived in the Institute.

Finally, moving day perches itself right around the corner. Makki and Mattsun corner Hajime before he can finish the last box. “Oh, no,” he says.. “You guys are gonna manage to do something weird on my last day, aren’t you?”

“What,” Makki says.

“We would never,” Mattsun adds.

“Alright, fine, hit me,” Hajime grumbles.

“We’re throwing you a going away party,” Mattsun says.

“Well,” Makki says. “More of a get together. You know. A mature thing. Like adults, since you’re doing adult things like moving in with your boyfriend, leaving us behind.”

“You guys moved in together ages ago, I don’t know why you even have this dorm room anymore. I’m not even entirely sure which of you is my roommate.”

“Our son… all grown up,” Mattsun says dramatically, cradling Hajime’s head in his arms.

“I can’t believe you don’t know which one of us lives here,” Makki says. “Issei, tell him which one of us lives here.”

“I don’t know, I thought you knew,” Mattsun says, and Hajime sighs, lifting Mattsun’s arm off of his face. 

“Alright, alright,” Hajime says. “Fine. What’d you guys have in mind?”

“The three of us and Oikawa should grab dinner somewhere. Like we used to, before we all chose our hoes over our bros,” Makki says.

“But you are my bro,” Mattsun protests.

“But you’re also my hoe, unlike Iwa and Oikawa, who are just plain bros.”

“Bro-hoe,” Mattsun offers.

They high five and Hajime sighs, though he’s glad to hear their dumb jokes. He’s starting to realize how much he’s missed their company, and how much he’ll miss them staggering into his room once a week, even if it’s at three in the morning and he wants to kill them for it.

“Sounds good,” he says. “We’ll be there.”

-X-

It’s getting chilly in the evenings now, and Tooru has wrapped himself in his coat as though he’s angry that cold can happen to people like him. The coat is a hideous shade of blue, with an inner, fuzzy lining and a collar that comes up far enough that Tooru can stuff his nose in it. It’s adorable to see, really.

They end up going to a small ramen place, finding a booth to sit in that’s out of the way. They all order their favorite ramen and sit back to look at each other.

“So,” Makki says. “You guys have been kind of AWOL. What have you been up to?”

Hajime and Tooru exchange glances and let out a shuddering laugh together. “We’ve been through some things lately,” Tooru says. He looks down at his hands. 

Technically, they’ve already told Makki and Mattsun about Tooru’s powers. Their response was underwhelming.  _ What, so you can give people headaches? Doesn’t your personality do that already? _ But Tooru’s still been nervous about talking about it in detail to anyone but Hajime. He seems nervous now, too.

“One of those mutant things, huh?” Makki says. He moves to change the subject, but Tooru cuts him off with a huffed breath. They blink at him, surprised. They’d stopped bringing up  _ the mutant thing _ pretty quickly when they saw how intensely Tooru clammed up about it, so to see him volunteering to talk about it must be truly something.

Hajime understands, though. This is just one of Tooru’s baby steps out of the Institute and into a new, uncertain life. One he’s decided to start with Hajime, no matter how much it scares him.

“Yeah,” Tooru says, then grins. “It’s a crazy story, though, so hang tight.”

And he launches into the account from the start of his telepathy. He skims over a few things, over the panic in the isolation room, over how frightened he’d been of dying. He tries to laugh it off, but sometimes the sourness of the memories shows on his face. Some of this Hajime is just hearing, and now that he knows a few of the things that Tendou has done, he sort of regrets that Ushijima didn’t crush him before Kageyama intervened.

“So anyway,” Tooru finishes. “I’m fine now.”

It’s quiet enough to hear a butterfly land. Makki and Mattsun wear equally stunned faces as they stare at Tooru.

“Is this,” Makki manages finally. “Like. A regular thing, or. Are you.” He trails off and looks at Mattsun for help. Mattsun just stares.

Tooru laughs, spinning his glass in his hands carefully. “No, this was… I think pretty dramatic even by mutant standards. Just me, I guess.” He smiles to himself a little ruefully.

“You  _ died _ ?” Mattsun blurts.

Tooru laughs, sort of breathless. He sounds shaken again, but he seems to be laughing honestly. “Yeah, for a little while.”

Makki and Mattsun look at Hajime at the same time. “How did  _ you _ deal with that?”

Hajime chuckles. “Uh… not great.”

“Oh, gods, guys, he’s been freaking out about everything,” Tooru laughs. “He’s acting like death is waiting for me on every corner.”

“Can you  _ blame _ him?” Makki exclaims.

“Final destination,” Mattsun adds, nodding sagely.

Tooru laughs again, then looks at Hajime, drawing him closer for a soft kiss. “No, I can’t,” he says, then turns to whisper to them in a fake conspiratory tone, “But if he ties me up and tries to wrap in bubble wrap for the rest of my life please get help.”

Hajime elbows him in the side. “Ha  _ ha _ , asshole,” he says, but he has to admit, the fact that Tooru can laugh about all this makes it seem less urgent and terrifying. Tooru smiles down at him, like that’s exactly why he’s doing it.

“WAIT,” Makki says. “So now Oikawa knows what we’re thinking?”

Tooru blinks at him, then pulls into a deadly smirk. “I sure do, Makki-chan,” he says.

“Oh no,” Mattsun says.

“Oh gods,” Makki says. “Issei, we’re doomed.”

“Don’t think of anything,” Mattsun whispers. “He’ll know.”

Tooru rolls his eyes. “You guys act like you’re hiding some big secret,” he says, then flips his hair and grins. “As though I didn’t already know you both adore me.”

“Oh  _ noooo _ ,” Makki moans.

“We’ll have to change our names and move to Mexico now,” Mattsun says, solemnly. 

“Disgraced forever,” Makki adds. 

Tooru huffs. “Stop acting like it’s embarrassing to like me. Everyone likes me,” he says, crossing his arms.

“And none of us know why,” Hajime adds, while Mattsun and Makki pretend to sob into their hands.

“Mean,” Tooru mutters, but he catches Hajime’s eyes as he does and gives him a soft smile.

-X-

As the waitress brings their ramen, they end up spending their whole evening chatting about things. Mattsun is going to start working as a chef at a nearby restaurant soon, Makki is thinking of applying to a high school as an English teacher. 

“I’ve already tutored there,” he says. “I think I might have found a mutant too. Kid tried to be sneaky after school, turned into a dog to charm his crush.” He sniggers. “Pretty sure his crush hates him as a human, but he’s got a thing for dogs.”

Tooru and Hajime snort into their ramen at the same time.

“Not that kind of thing,” Makki groans. “He’s friendly with them.” He shakes his head, muttering something. “Anyway, his name is Yahaba Shigeru. I gave him Oikawa’s contact info.”

“Well, I’d be glad to talk to him,” Tooru says with a smile that has a bittersweet tinge to it. “He might be kind of lonely as a mutant on his own.”

Hajime nudges his knee with his own under the table, and Tooru squeezes it back.

After a while, they run out of new things to tell each other, and they just settle back into teasing Tooru. It’s comforting to see that Tooru handles it just as well as usual, whining theatrically and arguing with them like a three year old. He’s just as energetic and smiley as he’s always been, and it’s good to remember how carefree Tooru can be, after the past two or three months of constant stress.

That stress and the relief of the past few days get to him fairly quickly, though, and while Tooru can carry on with Makki and Mattsun, Hajime has to leave the teasing matches to settle against Tooru and just watch. Tooru’s gaze flickers down to make sure he’s alright, but when he sees Hajime is still enjoying himself, he wraps his arm around Hajime and continues yelling at Makki about something.

When they finally leave, Makki claps him on the back. “Hey,” he says. “If you ever need us, we’re here, alright?”

“Yeah,” Mattsun says. “Call us when you’re moved in, yeah? We wanna see the new place after you’ve had some time to rest.”

“Alright,” Hajime says, smiling at them. “I’m gonna miss you guys, you know?”

“We’ll still be nearby!” Makki cries. “Maybe we’ll have brunch, like we’re old couple friends.”

Hajime snorts. “Sounds horrifying. You guys’ll show up in sweater vests and everything.”

“And here I thought Oikawa was the mind reader,” Mattsun mutters. He pulls Hajime into a hug, and Makki joins in for a moment.

They round on Tooru after they let go, who has been watching fondly from the sidelines. “You,” Makki says, hands on his hips. “You take care of yourself too.”

Tooru laughs. “I will, I will,” he says. 

“No more dying,” Mattsun adds, holding his arms out for a hug.

“I’ll do my best,” Tooru says with a chuckle, letting Mattsun squeeze him and shake him in a big bear hug. Makki hugs him from behind just as hard.

They relinquish their hold, shoving him back towards Hajime. Tooru takes Hajime’s hand, still grinning back at them.

“My babies,” Mattsun says, with a sniffle, as they both wave. “All grown up.”

Tooru rolls his eyes, but waves back. “We’ll see you around!” he says.

-X-

Kuroo, Kenma, Akaashi and Bokuto help them move. Suga lends them one of the vans from the Institute, and they fold down the seats to get all the boxes in. They unpack Hajime’s things from his room first, then head over to the Institute. Tooru is quiet as they carry things down, but everyone else keeps up the chatter.

After they’ve packed the van to the brim, Tooru climbs back into the room. It looks odd, lopsided, without Tooru’s things there. Tooru stands and stares at it with a sort of stunned look. “Man, I’m  _ really _ going to miss this place,” he says.

“Fifteen minutes away,” Kuroo reminds him.

“Yeah, but,” Tooru says quietly. “This was my home.”

“But now you’ll have a home with Iwaizumi!” Bokuto cries. “And it’ll be super great and we’ll visit all the time!”

“I know,” Tooru says. “I know, but… my room.”

Kenma steps around Bokuto, pulling his hood up and hugging Tooru tightly, face hidden in his chest. Tooru bites at his quivering lip. “Oh, gods, Kenma, don’t cry,” he manages. “If you cry I’ll cry.”

It’s a lost cause, though, because Tooru is already crying, and there are snot and tears everywhere and Kenma is shaking and they’re both clutching at each other desperately. “I’ll miss you too,” Tooru murmurs, though Kenma hasn’t said anything. “But I’ll be here all the time. I’ll be here so much you’ll have enough of me. You’ll beg me to leave you alone.”

There’s a pause in which Kenma just holds him tighter, and then Tooru whispers, “I know,” and they both start crying even harder. Tooru hold out his arm for Akaashi. “Come on, Aka-chan, this is your hug too.”

Akaashi is still and composed for a few moments, but then he strides over to slide into Tooru’s embrace, wrapping his arms around both of them and joining the tears as well. “T-thank you for everything, Oikawa-san,” he says. “Thank you for being here.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Tooru moans. “I’ll be 15 minutes away.”

“I know,” Akaashi says, and then lets out something between a sob and a laugh, burying his face in Tooru’s shoulder.

After a while, they all manage to taper off. Kenma still has the sniffles after Tooru lets him go, but Kuroo wraps his arm over his shoulder and draws him close as they accompany Tooru out into the parking lot. Tooru waves back at them. “We’ll see you guys soon,” he says. “Once we’ve unpacked you have to come over right away!”

“We’ll be there,” Akaashi murmurs.

“Goodbye,” Tooru says softly.

“Good riddance,” Kenma tries, though the delivery is crippled by fresh wave of tears.

Tooru looks back at the Institute with a soft gaze, unreadable in its complexity, then gets into the van. Hajime sits beside him in the driver’s seat. “Ready, Iwaizumi Tooru?” he asks.

Tooru takes his hand and smiles. “Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? 
> 
> Were you guys expecting angst?
> 
> Next week: There will be a chapter. Also, on a note that is either related or unrelated, I really miss Tendou. *gently bumps the ever increasing chapter number under the bed with my toe*


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So I should be less worried about him?” Hajime asks. Somehow that seems impossible. Hajime has spent his whole life worrying for Tooru, who never worried enough about himself, just about everything else. “You know how his luck is.”
> 
> His mother sighs, pressing circles into the base of his neck. “You need to make sure you’re not so scared of losing him that you forget to live with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* Alright, let's try this exam thing again. Hopefully this time I will actually... like... finish my exam instead of pulling a topic and walking out, which, judging from last time, means I'll spend the whole day in my teacher's office and then... probably go into a coma after. So here's a chapter before I die.
> 
> Anyway... this scene has a few warnings: 
> 
> There's quasi-explicit moments, but since they're scattered through they're never more than a paragraph or so. A few lines to look out for: "His tongue is like fire", "It takes them three days to unpack and stock the kitchen", "The next few days of unpacking are even slower due to all the breaks they take", "With Wakatoshi gone," (that last one is dubious consent. Ish.)
> 
> In general, Semi interprets a lot of things to be potential dub-con/non-con, for obvious reasons. I won't always clarify how wrong or right he is in the story but I will say this: there will be no non-con within the framework of this story. Ever. On screen or off. Everything that happened to Semi and Akaashi is firmly in the past and this story will only ever feature the aftermath/recovery.
> 
> That being said, there is a scene that can be construed as a rape threat, including a rape mention, in this chapter, towards the end. It's very quick, but the line to look for is: "But in the end." Actually, the entire last scene has a LOT of mentions of dubious or confusing consent, so if that's a thing that causes you stress, be wary.
> 
> As always, you can let me know if I missed any warnings or if you need some other content warning. (I've said this before but I really, really don't mind.)

Unpacking takes them almost a week and a half. Hajime had thought that the two of them would be able to unpack quickly, given how little things they really have, but it ends up taking them forever, especially with their frequent trips to stores to buy sheets, boxes, shelves and kitchenware that they had always taken for granted when in their old homes. Hajime had always used Makki’s sauce pan. Tooru had always had enough shelf space.

In the evenings they pull out old photos and sit in their bed and laugh at bad haircuts and old memories. 

The first night they have no sheets for the bed, but their annoyance at that is quickly forgotten by the fact that they  _ do _ have plenty of towels, which they can lay down on the bed so they don’t make a mess of it as they grind against each other. The next day they go out to get sheets for a queen sized bed, and Tooru whines over the boring patterns. Finally he relents and lets them get blue sheets that go with most of his pillowcases. 

“Do you need a moment?” Tooru whispers when they unwrap the sheets. “With your sheet fetish and all.”

Hajime elbows him in the stomach, then sighs. “Yeah, you know… actually,” he says, looking down at the sheets. “I mean… this is our bed, I want to give it a proper opening.”

“We had sex on it last night,” Tooru says dryly.

“Yeah but now it’s gonna be… like… a proper bed. Our bed,” Hajime says. “Come on, let’s just… put it on together.”

Tooru laughs, but he eagerly takes one corner in his hand, pulling it out so they can slide it on together, smoothing it out until it looks perfect. “Happy, Iwa-chan?” he asks, but he’s beaming too hard to make it seem like serious teasing. 

“I’ve never been happier,” Hajime breathes.

Tooru giggles and dives across the bed, pulling Hajime down when he gets to him. They end up wrestling and laughing until they’re both wheezing. “So, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, panting. “Are we going to consummate our new proper bed?”

“Hold on,” Hajime says. “Let’s… let’s make the bed first.”

Tooru groans, but he yields, tossing the pillows to Hajime so he can position them. They fold their blankets, the one grey one that Hajime brought and two of the bluest ones Tooru brought (so they  _ match _ , Iwa-chan!) and arrange it all so it looks nice. “ _ Now _ can we have sex in our perfect, beautiful bed?”

“ _ Fine _ ,” Hajime says, and Tooru pushes him down onto the edge of the bed and kneels between his legs. “You’re not even on the bed, idiot.”

“Well, you are, and you’ll be the one coming first,” Tooru says with a wink, as he unzips Hajime’s jeans and slides his cock out and into his mouth with a terrifying swiftness. 

His tongue is like fire along Hajime’s cock, swirling around the head and up and down the shaft in a merciless pattern. Hajime gasps and tugs at Tooru’s hair, and the resulting moan he gets has Hajime groaning. 

He finishes embarrassingly fast, and then grins down at Tooru. “Get up on the bed, Iwaizumi Tooru,” he says. “And let’s consummate.”

Tooru laughs and crawls up beside him, but he’s blushing too. “If you’re going to be talking like that, you’ll have to get me a ring,” he says.

“Oh, will I?” Hajime chuckles. “I’ll think about it. Will an orgasm do in the meantime?”

“I’ll allow it,” Tooru says, spreading his legs. “Oikawa Hajime.”

“If you call me Oikawa Hajime,” Hajime says, ignoring the thrill he gets when he says it. “How are you gonna call me Iwa-chan?”

Tooru thinks about that a moment, then scowls down at him. “Not fair, Iwa-chan,” he whines, but soon he doesn’t have any more complaints.

They lay on the bed afterwards, Hajime’s head resting in the crook of Tooru’s shoulder this time, the opposite of what they usually do. It’s nice, though, warm all around him, giving him a perfect view of Tooru’s face. Hajime wants to lay in this bed for the rest of forever with him.

“We should unpack the kitchen next,” Tooru says. “I really do want to fuck you on that table.”

Hajime flicks him in the nose. “How are you gonna ruin the moment like that when you know what I’m thinking.”

“Because you were going to think of a ring next,” Tooru says quietly. “And I’d cry and… and I thought we were finally having a pretty peaceful moment here.”

“What kind of ring do you want,” Hajime says, stubbornly.

Tooru’s mouth warbles, and then he’s sobbing, dripping snot all over, rubbing desperately at his nose. Hajime’s own eyes prickle as he watches. “Gold,” Tooru chokes out. “Like a real wedding ring.”

“If that’s how you see it, then I won’t get you a ring,” Hajime says.

Tooru sniffles. “But I want one,” he says, petulant, as though warning Hajime not to say what he’s thinking.

“No. We’ll have my mom and Mayumi over and do a yuino. And we’ll get married whenever it becomes legal,” he says. “I’m not playing pretend here, Tooru, I want to marry you.”

Tooru just cries harder, curling his knees into Hajime’s side and holds him close, and Hajime squeezes back. “I’m a mess, Hajime,” he sobs. “How are we going to have kids?”

The question takes him aback for a moment. Then he rolls his eyes. Of course Tooru has an idea of what the next fifty years should be like, and how he can screw up in them.“You think I’m going to break up with you to adopt a kid with someone else?” Hajime laughs. “If you want a kid we’ll have a kid. If you don’t, we’ll just be Takeru’s weird uncles forever.”

Tooru laughs at that, trying to catch his breath and stop bawling like a baby.

_ You better not ask if I’m gonna get tired of you,  _ Hajime thinks, because he knows that Tooru will ask if he doesn’t cut it off at the head.

Tooru sniffles, and he has the decency to look slightly ashamed. “I would never,” he says.

“Idiot,” Hajime whispers, and he’d do anything to shield Tooru from the pain he feels when he thinks about losing Tooru now, but Tooru has already heard it, holding him a little tighter in response. At the very least, maybe feeling that agony will finally convince Tooru that Hajime would do everything to be with him forever.

“What about that kitchen, huh?” Tooru asks, faintly. 

Hajime slaps his ribs gently, and Tooru laughs, planting a kiss on his forehead.

-X-

It takes them three days to unpack and stock the kitchen, after which they have some of the most awkward, clumsy sex they’ve ever had on the kitchen table. Hajime knocks his head on the table several times, Tooru is left with red marks on his hips, and they both end up coming while laughing, with Hajime’s leg slung over Tooru’s shoulder while Tooru snorts in the world’s least sexy manner into Hajime’s stomach.

“Want me to make it up to you by  _ consummating _ the couch early?” Tooru says.

Hajime wheezes, shaking his head. “You might be able to go two rounds bottoming, Overstimulation-san, but some of us need a break,” Hajime says.

“How about getting revenge by fucking me on the counter?”

“Only if you put the knives in the drawer,” Hajime says, immediately. “And we stay away from the stove.”

Tooru laughs in something akin to horror, but he stops quickly. “Gods, you have, like… a running catalogue of possible deaths in your head, don’t you?” He pulls Hajime off the table and into his lap on the chair. It’s surprisingly soft and innocent given they’re both naked and coming down from sex. “We don’t have to have rough sex right now. I mean, you know I’d like you to rail me on every surface of this apartment, but… if you need I can take care of you. On our bed, in your fetish-y sheets.”

“You’re the  _ worst _ ,” Hajime says, pressing his nose against Tooru. “As long as I get to feel you, I’m ok with anything.” 

“Alright,” Tooru says, kissing at his cheek gently. “I’m here. You can touch all you want.”

Hajime pulls him close and breathes in his scent. Then he grins up at Tooru. “But I also wanna rail you on every surface of this apartment.” He revels in the blush that wring out of Tooru, then finds himself blushing with his next thought, looking away.

Tooru giggles and plants his nose on Hajime’s shoulder so he can look up at him through his eyelashes. “What’s that Hajime?”

“You already know what I’ll say,” Hajime mutters.

“Oh, but I want to see your cute blush when you say it out loud.”

“Shut up.”

“Iwa-chaaaan,” Tooru teases. Hajime turns his face further away. Tooru’s nose follows. “Iwa-chan. Iwachaniwachaniwachaniwa… mphf!”

Hajime claps his hand over Tooru’s mouth and stares up at the ceiling. “And also I want to have soft, soulful sex, in our bed, that we share, with our sheets, that we bought together, and I want to take turns taking care of each other and whispering sappy gooey stuff to each other.”

Somewhere behind Hajime’s hand, Tooru is letting out a long, delighted, “Ohhhhhhhh,” so Hajime leans forward to kiss it out of him. “Dickhead,” he mutters. Tooru’s eyes just twinkle up at him, devoid of remorse.

-X-

The next few days of unpacking are even slower due to all the breaks they take “breaking in” the apartment. Tooru wakes Hajime with gentle kisses and then a few enthusiastic warm-up rounds, his cock hot inside Hajime and his arms careful around him, chasing away any lingering nightmares. 

Later on, Hajime returns the favor, against the walls, on the counters, over the back of the sofa, the arm of the sofa, in the shower (though that one ends in both of them sitting in the tub, giggling and unsatisfied) and against the bathroom mirror.

“How are you still ready to go?” Hajime laughs when Tooru insists on a fifth round after unpacking into the closet on the seventh day.

“I guess I have as much of a domestic fetish as you after all,” Tooru laughs. “Come onnnnn Iwa-chan, one more!”

“I’m out, Tooru,” Hajime snorts. “I can’t do another round today.”

“Then finger me,” Tooru says, spreading his legs and giving Hajime a look that makes it hard to refuse. Tooru’s stamina has always been ridiculous.

Finally, they’ve managed to unpack everything. Hajime settles on the bed, taking in their room, the godzilla poster next to a worn X-files poster. He frowns, suddenly feeling as though something is missing.

“Hey, Tooru?” he asks. He’d almost forgotten his nerves, but now they flutter helplessly again.

“Hm?” Tooru asks, poking his head out from the bathroom, gnawing on his toothbrush.

“Where’d you put your DVDs?” Hajime asks.

“In the closet, in the green box,” Tooru says. “Did you want to do a movie night?”

“You’ve always had them on display, though,” Hajime says. He feels silly about panicking about this, when it’s probably just Tooru adjusting to a different life and a different apartment, but the terror that grips him isn’t easily appeased.

“Well, I thought it might be nice to leave some shelf space for your weird brain books,” Tooru says, ducking back into the bathroom.

After a fraction of a moment, though, he senses that Hajime is still upset, and comes back, sitting beside him on the bed. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Hajime says, but he knows it’s not really true. “Yeah, I just… you’ve always been so excited about your movies and they’ve always been all over the place, and I…”

Tooru frowns at him, as though trying to make sense of the thoughts Hajime can’t even make sense of.

“I’m still excited about them, Hajime,” Tooru says softly. “I just thought, since we’re living together, I could be practical. Share the shelf space and… you know. Make mature compromises and all. I mean, we’re starting a  _ life _ together.”

“But I don’t want you to be… an adult, I want you to be  _ you _ .”

Tooru tries not to laugh and fails for the most part. “Are you saying I can’t be an adult, Iwa-chan?” he teases. When Hajime continues to worry at his lip with his teeth, he takes his hand in his own and squeezes. “I’m still me, Hajime. Just a very slightly more adult-y me.”

Hajime looks up at him, furrowing his brow.

“I’ve kept my books in boxes under my bed for years, it doesn’t mean I read them any less,” Tooru says, pulling him close and slinging an arm around Hajime. “I’m not trying to push who I am down or anything, I’m just trying to give  _ and _ take. We’re together in this.”

“I know,” Hajime murmurs. “I just… I don’t want to… I can’t lose any part of you. Not again.”

Tooru smiles at him, kissing his cheek. “I know,” he says. He eyes Hajime a little. “Do you think maybe now that you don’t have something to distract yourself with, you’re getting stressed again? I mean, while we were unpacking you were willing to have  _ shower _ sex, which… honestly… might have been an actual scene from Final Destination…” 

“Oh, gods, please don’t,” Hajime whimpers.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tooru says quietly. “I don’t mean to make a joke out of it, I just wanted to make you laugh. I just mean… do you need a few days off before people start coming over? Movie night and cuddling?”

Hajime smiles a little at that, which only encourages Tooru, who snakes around him, pressing his nose to Hajime’s face and tickling him with it. “Back to back Bond and Godzilla?” he whispers.

Hajime tries not to smile.

“I’ll make tofu… just the way you like it… and popcorn… nice and salty, like the movies…”

“Ok,” Hajime says, relenting and letting Tooru tug him into his lap, then roll them both around so Tooru is above him, holding him securely.

“But if it makes you feel better, we can clear a shelf for my X-files DVDs,” he says.

Hajime chews at his lip. “Yeah, ok,” he says, and Tooru bounces up to drag him back to the closet.

-X-

“You know what we forgot, Iwa-chan?” Tooru says, as they chew their way through old movies and popcorn.

“What?” Hajime asks.

“Our birthdays,” Tooru says.

Hajime pauses. Surely that can’t be… “Oh, shit,” he says. He’s right. Tooru had pretty much slept through Hajime’s birthday with migraines, and Tooru’s birthday had been right at the beginning of the isolation room debacle. “Well,” he laughs, slightly queasy. “At least I didn’t have to listen to you calling me an old man for a month.”

“I totally forgot,” Tooru mutters, looking angry at himself. “Even though I was still ok, then. For your birthday, I mean. Well. Sort of.”

“I forgot too,” Hajime says, kissing behind Tooru’s ear. “And yours too. I guess I was more focused on how you were puking your brains out.”

Tooru laughs, though it’s shaky. “Guess we’ve got to combine two birthday parties with our housewarming party, huh?”

“Sounds exhausting,” Hajime murmurs. 

“Well, maybe it’ll be more of a laid back thing,” Tooru says. “A movie night, or a board game night…”

“Oh, you just want to break out your weird board games,” Hajime teases.

“Well, obviously I can’t play,” Tooru says, then huffs, pouting. “Oh. Right. I can’t play.”

“Why not?” Hajime asks.

“Because I’d automatically be cheating, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, flicking his head. “Keep up.”

Hajime scowls at him. 

“But Kenma likes them, so I guess I’ll just watch,” Tooru says. He laughs. “Oh, that actually sounds fun, knowing what everyone’s thinking while they play.”

“Well, sounds like you’ve got a plan,” Hajime says, smiling up at him. He doesn’t particularly want to do anything but lay here in the blankets and snuggle up to Tooru, but… to be honest, anything that makes Tooru laugh is fine by him.

-X-

It turns out to be less exhausting than Hajime had thought. Tooru plans most of it, Hajime cooks, and when the night comes rolls around, Hajime finds himself in the corner, smiling to himself about the fact that they’re hosting their first party in their first apartment while Tooru bounces around being social. 

His mother ends up sitting beside him, with a plate of food, crossing her legs. Somewhere in the distance Bokuto is yelling.

“So,” she says. 

“So,” he replies, knowing he’s going to be interrogated thoroughly. 

“Tooru’s been calling me every so often,” she says. “He says he’s worried about you.”

“I’m coping,” he says. He knows he’s been jumpy, but after all that’s happened, that’s not exactly strange.

“That’s what he says too,” she laughs.

He sighs. Tooru is worried because he’s right, of course. Hajime has been terrified since Tooru came back. His mother sees it on his face and rubs her hand along his back.

“You’ve been through a lot, sweetface,” she says softly. 

“I know,” he says. “But seriously, Maan, I’m alright. We’re together now, and I… I’m getting over it.” He is. Slowly, but he is.

“I felt the same way after your father died, you know,” she says. “I was heartbroken, but I felt as though as long as I had him living on in you, I would be fine.”

“And?”

“And, remember how overprotective I was when you were little?”

“Vaguely,” Hajime says. He smiles, old memories swimming to the surface, a little dusty and a little faded, but just as vibrant as every other memory he shares with Tooru. “Tooru had to sneak me out my window once.”

She laughs. “Yes, that was when I realized maybe I had to loosen up. At least, after I spent hours searching for you both.”

“So I should be less worried about him?” Hajime asks. Somehow that seems impossible. Hajime has spent his whole life worrying for Tooru, who never worried enough about himself, just about everything else. “You know how his luck is.”

His mother sighs, pressing circles into the base of his neck. “You need to make sure you’re not so scared of losing him that you forget to live with him.”

Hajime sighs, staring down at his hands. “Yeah, ok,” he says. She makes a frustratingly good point. 

“Anyway,” she says, rummaging in her bag. “This is your birthday gift. And housewarming gift.” She gives him a small package, waving Tooru over as well. Tooru leaps over the table where Mayumi is chatting with Akaashi, and trots over. He sits in front of them.

“What?” he asks.

“Open it,” she says, pressing the package in Hajime’s hands closer to Tooru as well.

Tooru leans over Hajime’s shoulder, watching as Hajime pulls open the wrapping paper. It’s a set of picture frames. “I’d like you both to live long lives and fill these frames and so many more,” she says. “And I’m certain you will.”

Tooru leans forward and buries his face in her stomach. “Thank you Okaasan,” he murmurs. “We will, I promise.”

Hajime smiles, imagining for a moment what it would be like to grow old with Tooru by his side, the pictures of their adventures lining the walls of their apartment. Tooru smiles softly at the image, nuzzling up to his knee.

They sit in silence, the others talking in the distance, before Tooru sits up. “I’m going to watch them play Settlers of Catan,” he murmurs. “This is as fun as I thought it would be. Our friend have the weirdest strategies, it’s hilarious to see.”

Hajime squeezes his hand softly. 

“Come on, don’t just waste away here in the corner,” Tooru says, dragging him up. 

Hajime groans, but he lets Tooru pull him into the thick of things. He ends up being right, of course, and Hajime is quickly drawn into laughing with Kuroo and Bokuto over some bizarre running joke.

Everyone leaves towards the evening, leaving the apartment buzzing with a peaceful silence. For the time being, Tooru and Hajime put the gifts on the sofa for the morning. Tooru yawns, long and loud, so Hajime sends him off to shower with a smack of the ass while he packs up in the kitchen. 

When he comes back, Tooru is peering into the mirror with a sort of bewildered intensity.

“You alright there?” Hajime asks.

“Hm?” Tooru asks, distracted. “Oh. Yeah.” He grins at Hajime. “I was just checking for wrinkles. You know, now that we’re adults and all, ready to grow old together.”

Hajime laughs, shaking his head. “You look fine, and you’ll age with grace just like your grandfather,” he says. “Honestly, you’re so weird sometimes. Just take a shower and go to bed.”

“Come with meeee?” Tooru whines, holding his hands out in invitation.

“Alright, alright,” Hajime says, chuckling and tugging off his shirt.

“Also, Hajime, does this mean you’ve always had a thing for my grandfather?” Tooru adds, and Hajime pinches his ear in response.

-X-

September passes peacefully. The gifts from their friends find their places, matching, hand painted dishes from Bokuto, only slightly chipped, with a dishtowel from Akaashi to go with it (not that Oikawa-san ever does the dishes, even when it's his turn, he adds dryly). Alien and godzilla bookends from Makki and Mattsun. A slowcooker from Kuroo. Kenma comes back the next day with one of the technopaths to strengthen their alarm system. 

They have the whole month to get used to the apartment, and when the semester begins again, they’re both well rested and ready to have things to do.

They both get TA jobs without a hitch. Hajime has to discuss it with his professors for a while, but Tooru seems to walk in, having failed the semester, and comes back with a job without a question asked.

“The whole world is in love with you, huh?” Hajime says.

“Of course,” Tooru laughs. “But I only have eyes for my beautiful Iwa-chan.”

“You smooth talking son of a bitch,” Hajime laughs.  _ Mean, _ Tooru mumbles. “What are you teaching?”

“Basic physics,” Tooru says, flipping through a textbook absently.

Hajime sits up. “I thought the astrophysics TA position was open this semester? At least, I thought I saw it on the board...” he says.

“It was open,” Tooru says, without looking up. “But I took the physics.”

Hajime’s gut twists. “But… you’ve  _ always  _ wanted that job,” he says. 

Tooru looks up, then frowns. “Iwa-chan, it’s not a big deal,” he says. “The physics pays better, and it’s not like there’s really anyone gunning for the astrophysics nowadays. I’ll do it next year.”

“But…” Hajime says, feeling panicked suddenly. Tooru has been wanting that job for  _ years _ , even before he was qualified for it, and now he’s passing it up?

Tooru stands up quickly and wraps an arm around Hajime’s shoulders. “Hajime?” he asks. “It’s alright, seriously, I didn’t give up on the job, I just decided to take the physics this semester.” He shakes Hajime gently, but Hajime’s panic doesn’t die down. 

“Oh, Hajime, baby, it’s alright,” Tooru says, settling his head on Hajime’s shoulder. “It’s just… I’ve been through a lot lately. And now, going back… I didn’t want to crowd my schedule right away. I think I’ll probably get tired a lot faster. The physics has a lot more students and several TAs, and… you know, if I need a break I can work something out, and I don’t have to take such a large load in the first place… I’m just being careful.”

“Ok,” Hajime says, clenching his fists and trying to breathe. “Sorry, I… I don’t know what happened there.”

“This is going to be hard on you too,” Tooru murmurs. “Going back, having to work and study.” He frowns. “Maybe you should ask Sugawara to get you someone to talk to. I know his schedule is pretty wild, but I’m sure he knows someone who’s familiar with the whole mutant issue.”

“Yeah,” Hajime says. “You’re right.”

“Hajime…” Tooru murmurs. “Promise you’re going to take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Hajime sighs. Tooru looks at him expectantly. “I  _ promise. _ ”

“Isn’t this your job, Iwa-chan?” Tooru murmurs, kissing the top of his head.

“Shut up. You owe me,” Hajime mutters into his collarbone. 

Tooru takes his hand in his own gently. “I know. And I’ll catch up, just you wait,” he says, his fingers sliding into Hajime’s hair. “I’m gonna take care of you, ok?”

Hajime sighs, relaxing into his arms. “Ok,” he says. 

“Everything is ok now, Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispers.

-X-

Eita feels like he’s in a haunted house. Except it’s a haunted compound that’s an island wide.

It’s easy to speak privately here, but it’s also easy to think you’re alone only to find out that someone has heard your whispers, your thoughts…

Eita isn’t sure if he’s the ghost or if the whispers he overhears are somehow the ghost that Wakatoshi left behind.

Sometimes the whispers are clearer, Reon comforting Tsutomu in a back hallway. Sometimes it’s Shirabu and Kawanishi whispering about something, but they always grow silent when Eita nears. He wonders if they’ll jump ship, now that Wakatoshi is gone.

Eita feels colder, nowadays, though it might just be the fact Wakatoshi is dead, and with him every promise he made was gone. Eita would have thought that the promise of revenge would be the one that he would miss the most, but instead the promise he never truly believed at all is the one that keeps him up at night.

He hadn’t even noticed how it lingered before him until it was snatched away at the last moment, just like the last time.

_ You’ll finally be safe. _

It hadn’t hurt this time, he just feels numb and cold. Number and colder, even, than he felt before.

Eita misses Satori. 

No. That’s not exactly it.

With Wakatoshi gone, there’s no end to the things Satori could be planning. At night, when Satori slides those nimble, gnarled fingers around his throat when they’re together, grinning down at him until Eita breaks, pushing him away, ignited by the thrill of being able to do so and the rage that he’s been goaded into it, Satori might not pull away. 

Perhaps instead of laughing at the foot of the bed at how pathetic Eita is, he’ll only press harder, until… Eita shivers under the blankets.

With Wakatoshi gone, Satori has become a threat, and yet Eita still craves his company.

Is it better to be dead inside and still drifting around on the outside, or alive on the inside until you’re dead on the outside?

Besides. It’s unlikely that Satori will actually kill him. He’d lose his plaything, then.

It still doesn’t explain why Eita would rather be Satori’s plaything than sit here alone, wondering what will become of him, of this entire collection of people he almost started… not liking, maybe, but feeling connected to.

Satori doesn’t show. He doesn’t toy with Eita, doesn’t ask for his company, doesn’t try to kill him. He drifts, in the silence. He silences the whispers one by one, until there are no dissenting voices. Shirabu and Kawanishi stay put. Tsutomu stops crying. Reon and Yamagata get back to work.

He doesn’t come to Eita, though, perhaps because Eita is not whispering, just frozen in his room, unable to warm up.

He’d always felt too hot whenever Satori was in his bed.

He misses Satori. He misses Satori, and in a deluded haze, he finds himself outside Satori’s door. Somehow, it doesn’t matter that without Wakatoshi to lend Eita’s words power, there’s nothing to keep Satori from devouring him alive or twisting his soul out of his body even further. Maybe there’s a part of Eita’s mind that wants to believe the silly little fantasy that Satori always stopped because Eita asked.

That perhaps, Eita has been given a little power back to keep, instead of just borrowing it from a man who is now dead.

Mostly, Eita just doesn’t want to be cold. 

He knocks. Satori answers, looming above him. His face is shadowed and twists and flickers when he sees Eita. If there is anything left in this world that Eita could still manage to be frightened of, it is Satori, but he doesn’t feel it.

“Where have you been,” Eita says, tongue numb with a strange bewilderment at his own actions.

“Oh, you know,” Satori says, grinning. “Same as always. Doing my job.”

“You haven’t been bugging me for sex,” Eita murmurs. 

“Like I said,” Satori says with a shrug. “You’re no fun when you’re all mopey. Besides, I’ve got plans to make. After all, Waka was very clear about the fact that without him,  _ I’m  _ in charge.” The leer on his face is positively demonic.

“You know,” Eita says, suddenly feeling angry. The cold thaws a little. “It might not be  _ fun _ for you, but some of us actually felt more than a need to reroute our  _ plans _ when Waka died. To some of us, Wakatoshi was more than a playing card.”

Satori is still for a moment, but the smile drops from his face, and then he’s on other side of the hall, crowding into Eita’s space and pressing his hands on either side of his head, against the wall. The move startles him, but it doesn’t scare him, like he’d thought it might. There’s no part of him where Satori hasn’t put his hands before, nothing worse he could do. Pain, fear, panic, they mean nothing to Eita anymore. “Really, Eita?” Satori murmurs. “What was he to you? A friend?”

Eita stops short. The question is a surprisingly difficult one.

“Or was he just the one keeping you safe? What was that, if not a  _ playing card _ ?”

Eita stares him down, but suddenly, he’s not so sure of himself.

“Well, whatever he was to you, he’s gone now,” Satori whispers. “It’s only me.” He brushes his fingers along Eita’s jaw the way he knows disgusts Eita, and now something about his presence almost manages to frighten Eita. After all, Satori is talented. It’s not an accident that he’s the only one who makes Eita feel anything these days.

But in the end, it’s just Satori, playing his game. The monsters he creates aren’t real, the injuries he can show others won’t last if the image fades. There’s nothing Satori can take that hasn’t been taken from Eita already. He laughs. “What are you going to do?” he asks. “Rape me?” Granted, after so long being able to say no, it would hurt. But it’s not as though Eita has ever  _ really  _ thought that Satori stopped because of Eita’s wellbeing. 

Satori jerks away, an unreadable expression flitting over his face before he can obscure it with static, as though he’s been burned by something. Perhaps by the idea that Eita isn’t scared of him.

Eita blinks at him. He’d thought that Satori was trying to get him to bend to Satori’s will, but… “You want me to leave,” Eita realizes. “You’re trying to scare me into leaving.”

Satori doesn’t look at him. 

“What?” Eita says. “What, worried I’ll conflict with your  _ plans _ ? Now that Wakatoshi is out of the way you want me to be out of your way too? What do you even want to do, huh? Revenge?”

“Revenge?” Satori asks, looking back up at him like he’s just told a stupid joke. “What would I want revenge for?”

_ How would I know? I don’t even know what you look like,  _ Eita thinks,  _ much less what you want in the end. _ Satori is the ghost. The ghost that lurks along the hallways and plays his little games, the man behind the illusion invisible. “Oikawa. For taking your  _ trump card _ out of commission.”

Satori is quiet for a moment, blinking at Eita. “What do I care about Oikawa? Besides, Oikawa’s dead, just like Waka,” he says finally. “What am I going to do, hurt people who were close to him just for the hell of it? Hell, even if he wasn’t dead, revenge was always your thing.”

Eita wants to say,  _ Of course you’d hurt people for the hell of it, isn’t that why you’re here? _ Instead, he stops, feeling lost, suddenly. The way Satori had said it was almost like he’d been trying to sound apathetic but instead had sounded almost… remorseful. Eita frowns. Is this another trick, another manipulation?

“I don’t know,” Eita says, finally, the fight draining out of him. 

“You really don’t know why I’m even here, do you?” Satori says. “Sometimes I think maybe you just ignore it, but you really don’t know.”

Eita just stares at him.

“Stay if you want, but know this. You’ll get hurt if you stay here, Eita,” Satori says, turning his back on Eita. “Just like Waka.” He slams the door behind him, leaving Eita more confused than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe that JUST because I hinted at it extensively, you all thought that my son, Tendou Satori, light of my life, was going to be the villain of this story. How DARE you. 
> 
> Next week: lol new phone who dis


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru yawns again, sitting up. “How’d it go with McCoy?”
> 
> “Same as every week,” Hajime mutters.
> 
> “That’s not true,” Tooru says, his voice patient and encouraging. “You’ve been calmer lately.”
> 
> “Have I? I still feel weird,” Hajime sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I thought posting anxiety was a thing that didn't really happen to me but it's going to eat me alive if I don't close my eyes and shove this out there ASAP, so here I am. 
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to fxvixen and livecement. fxvixen for the crazy amounts of betaing and support I keep forgetting to thank her for on here, livecement for the encouragement needed to post today's chapter.
> 
> Explicit sex from '“Ok,” Tooru says, settling back into the pillows.' to 'When Hajime pulls out, Tooru looks up at him, chest heaving.'

“You know,” McCoy says. The way he sits is fascinating, putting his feet together like hands as he sits across from Hajime. “I think you’re handling things very well.”

“Yeah,” Hajime mutters. “But I’m… you know. I keep waiting for the next blow.”

“That’s not exactly unreasonable,” McCoy says. His Japanese truly is flawless. “Quite a bit happened all at once. It’s natural to ask yourself what’s next.”

Hajime stares at his cup. “I just…” He sighs. “I keep looking for… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m looking for, I just feel… unnerved.”

“How long have you been studying telepathy?” McCoy asks.

“Uh,” Hajime says. He tries to think back. It feels like it’s the only thing he’s thought about seriously for most of his life by now. “Well, first I was just curious about brains because of what Tooru could do, but I must have stumbled on telepathy research… towards the end of middle school.”

“So you’ve been spending the last decade watching for signs that Tooru-kun might be dying, and then you saw him die. Don’t you think it will take some time to grow out of that habit? A habit that’s been exacerbated by recent events?”

“There’s nothing  _ wrong _ with him, though,” Hajime says, furrowing his brow in frustration. “There’s just something wrong with  _ me. _ ”

McCoy chuckles. “Not at all. Everything you’re going through is very natural. And I assure you, Tooru-kun is happy to wait this out, just as you would wait it out with him. It’s alright for you to be struggling for a while,” McCoy says.

Hajime breathes out a long sigh. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

-X-

Hajime knows, logically, that Tooru is willing to support him through however much it takes for Hajime to calm down, but that doesn’t make it any more frustrating to schedule weekly meetings with McCoy so he can tell him how wrong everything being alright feels.

He sighs, unlocking their apartment, hauling himself inside to collapse on the sofa. Except there’s already someone on the sofa.

“What are you doing here?” he says. “I thought you had class.”

Tooru blinks up at him, bleary and confused. “Iwa,” he says, rubbing at his eyes, seeming relieved to see him. “I...” He frowns, then seems to want to say something, then stops.

Hajime’s heart skips a beat. Tooru seems uncoordinated, struggling to sit up… did he have a seizure? Did something happen? Did he pass out? 

But before he can get very far into that spiral, Tooru shakes himself a little and yawns. “Sheesh,” he says, stretching a little. Hajime’s stomach unclenches and he realizes Tooru’s movements are just heavy with sleep. He’s clearly just waking up from a nap. Hajimes sighs the building tension in his chest out and tries to breathe like McCoy taught him to. 

“Sorry,” Tooru continues, eyes sharp as he sees Hajime’s struggle. He doesn’t mention it. “I stayed up way too late last night and fell asleep in class, so I just came home.”

“When did you go to bed?” Hajime asks, dropping his bag by the door. He’d fallen asleep to the sound of Tooru’s turning pages, and it was only when he’d woken up that he’d found Tooru struggling to turn off his alarm, back in their bed.

“Five in the morning, maybe?” Tooru says. He sighs. “My limits aren’t what they used to be.”

“You shouldn’t be staying up until five anyway,” Hajime scolds.

Tooru yawns again, sitting up. “How’d it go with McCoy?”

“Same as every week,” Hajime mutters.

“That’s not true,” Tooru says, his voice patient and encouraging. “You’ve been calmer lately.”

“Have I? I still feel weird,”  Hajime sighs.

“Well, you are weird,” Tooru laughs. Hajime doesn’t laugh with him, so he stops quickly. “Hajime, seriously, you’re doing fine. It’s not like I’m totally back to normal either.”

“Why?” Hajime says, straightening up and looking at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired,” Tooru says, softly, as though reminding Hajime that he already knew that. “Nothing new.”

Hajime groans, rubbing at his head. “Right,” he says. “Yeah. I know.”

Tooru holds his hand out. “You always get jumpier after talking to McCoy,” he says. “Is it scary to think about everything?”

Hajime nods, letting himself fall into Tooru’s arms and get dragged back onto the sofa with Tooru, their legs sliding together. Tooru’s long fingers smooth over his back, rubbing circles into his tense muscles. “Don’t worry about a thing, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, kissing his cheek. “Let me take care of you today.”

They’re having a lot of “taking care of him” days, and Hajime loves them almost as much as he hates them. He’s the one who’s supposed to… 

“Don’t,” Tooru warns, nuzzling his nose into Hajime’s in a mockery of a threat. “Don’t think that. We take care of each other. And today you’re upset and I’m only sleepy, so my sleepy butt is going to make you a nice warm bath and wash your hair and then we’re going to make dinner together. Come on.”

Hajime whines into Tooru’s shoulder. 

“Come onnnnn, I’m hungryyyyy,” Tooru moans, but he stays and lets Hajime lounge on his chest for another hour before they finally get to that bath.

Tooru makes it hotter than he usually likes it, but perfect for Hajime, sitting on the edge of the bathtub while Hajime sinks into the water. Tooru smiles and rubs at his shoulders gently. “You’re so  _ tense _ , Iwa-chan,” he says, his fingers slipping along Hajime’s spine. “Just breathe.”

Hajime does his best to do as he’s told while Tooru works magic with his fingers. “Let me wet your hair,” Tooru murmurs after a long while, once the bath has cooled a little. Hajime just lets him, sighing out as Tooru carefully pushes his head back, making sure not to get water in his nose. 

He pauses a fraction of a moment, like he always does when he’s warring with himself, and Hajime cracks one eye open. “If you dunk me I’m not buying you milkbread for a month.”

Tooru makes a sheepish face. “Not fair,” he laughs. “Iwa-chan always knows what I’m thinking.”

“Yeah, well you literally know what I’m thinking, so yes fair,” Hajime grumbles.

Tooru squeezes shampoo into his hands. “Anyway, I wasn’t going to,” he says. “Though I did think of it.”

Hajime grunts, letting Tooru rub shampoo in his hair, his fingers dancing along his scalp. 

“But you look so peaceful finally and I wanted to keep that,” Tooru says.

“Thanks,” Hajime sighs. Tooru draws a line of shampoo on his nose for his efforts, and they both laugh. It feels like Tooru’s smoothed down something raw inside Hajime, and Hajime finds himself able to relax for a moment.

-X-

That moment turns into an evening, then slowly into weeks, then a month. 

As impossible as it had seemed at the start of the semester, Hajime slowly settles into an cautious peace. The first snow comes and goes, he and Tooru have snowball wars. Tooru keeps up with his classes and only has to pull a few favors to keep up with his TA job on days when he needs more than one nap a day, and Hajime gets into the swing of things as well.

More importantly, Hajime has been living with the love of his life for three perfect months, and the sheer joy he gets when Tooru texts him stupid domestic stuff is starting to overcome his terror that something else will go wrong.

Now, too, he’s smiling at his phone under his desk as he reads the message Tooru sent him.

**_Iwa-chaaaan~!_ ** **_(✿´ ꒳ ` )_ **

**_I’m so sleepy so i’m gonna go home earlyy_ ** **_(。´-ω-｀。).zZ_ **

**_But if you want to eat take out i can still get some on the way!_ **

Hajime smiles to himself.

**_Just go home and sleep, I’ll take care of food._ **

Tooru takes a little bit to text back,  **_So reliable Iwa-chaan (^з^)-☆Chu!!_ ** and then  **_it5'[ nmbo tmre_ **

Hajime frowns, but he resists the urge to leap out of his class and make sure Tooru is ok. Instead, he texts  **_?_ ** and waits for a response. As the minutes crawl by, his heartbeat gets faster, until a grueling five minutes later his phone buzzes again.

**_I fell asleep on my laptop_ ** **_(＝ω＝.)_ **

Hajime breathes out a sigh of relief.  **_Go home! >:( _ **

**_Yes sir_ ** **_♡(灬´ㅂ`灬)_ **

Hajime gets takeout on the way home, and when comes home he finds Tooru sleeping on the sofa, one socked foot on the floor and one bare one on the sofa, sticking up into the air endearingly. 

Hajime smiles and tweaks his toe on his way into the kitchen, and Tooru mumbles sleepily, but doesn’t wake up. Hajime sets the table and warms the food up, then goes starts back to the living room, jumping when he finds Tooru in the doorway already. “Gods, I didn’t hear you coming at all,” he says.

“Mm?” Tooru mumbles, rubbing at an eye. “Sorry, Iwa-chan.”

“It’s fine,” Hajime sighs. “Feeling more rested?”

Tooru smiles down at him, his eyes twinkling with a sort of gleam that Hajime hadn’t noticed was missing for a while now. “Yeah,” Tooru says. “Best sleep I’ve had in a long while.” 

“Anyway, I got take out,” Hajime says.

“Mmm,” Tooru says happily, pulling up a chair. “It looks delicious. I’m  _ starving _ .”

Hajime laughs and sits down with him.

-X-

The sex is especially good that evening. Tooru is more energetic than usual, and a great deal more enthusiastic, too, which Hajime wouldn’t have thought was possible, but Tooru refuses to let him go until he’s come dry, shivering and spent in Hajime arms.

“What’s up with you?” Hajime laughs.

“Gods, I don’t know,” Tooru says, giggling as Hajime collapses next to him. “I feel good. I think today’s nap finally got me rested.” As if to spite himself, he yawns right after. “Well. It’s still late, though.”

Hajime snorts. “Come on, let’s shower and sleep,” he says. 

Tooru groans, but he follows him into the shower, curling over Hajime’s shoulder like he’d rather just fall asleep on it, standing or not.

They both sleep peacefully that night, and in the morning Tooru is a ball of energy again.

Hajime finds himself weirdly relieved.

Well, it’s not like he’d really been  _ that _ tired before, but he’d had his moments of exhaustion, his face going a little pinched when he was studying, a few classes skipped to take naps on the couch, but they’d given Hajime a bad feeling. Now it seems like Tooru is steadily getting back into the swing of things. He still needs his naps, sometimes, and other times he goes to bed early, but after a few weeks it’s almost as though nothing in the past year happened at all.

For a while, Hajime’s thoughts quiet down, and he starts enjoying his talks with McCoy. They feel more like social meetings rather than psychological studies, and Hajime comes home with a smile on his face, which Tooru regards with even more relief.

But somehow Hajime can’t keep that up forever.

It’s late on a Friday evening, coming back from watching one of Kageyama’s games with Makki and Mattsun, and Tooru is only a little more tired than Hajime himself as he puts the leftovers on the stove and Hajime sets the table.

When Hajime looks back at Tooru, he’s slipping one finger in the fire. Hajime jolts, jumping over and snatching his hand away, and Tooru blinks. “Ow,” he says, gripping his hand tightly. “That  _ really  _ hurts.”

“What the hell were you  _ doing _ ?” Hajime says.

Tooru frowns down at him. “I must have dozed off standing,” he says. “Shit.” He sighs and puts his finger under cold water.

Hajime stares at him, heart pounding.  _ Had _ he dozed off? It hadn’t looked like it. It looked like he’d deliberately placed his hand in the fire.

Tooru looks up at him. “I didn’t deliberately put my hand in the fire,” he says, like he doesn’t understand why Hajime would think that. “I think I was just reaching for the pot handle and I wasn’t as awake as I thought.”

“Right,” Hajime says. 

Tooru watches him carefully. “Hajime, do we need to talk about this or something…?” He asks.

Hajime rubs at his face. It’s just a little burn, but somehow Hajime’s worries all surface again. He rubs at his face. “No, it’s… it’s fine,” he says. He just has to breathe, settle his nerves again. 

Tooru cocks his head, watching him like a hawk. “If you need…” he starts, but Hajime cuts him off with a shake of the head.

“No. I’m fine. I just need some sleep.”

“Alright,” Tooru says, but he still looks worried.

-X-

Sleep doesn’t help. Hajime wakes up to Tooru’s smile, but something still seems wrong. Tooru’s smile fades and he tries to bring it up, but Hajime just waves him away. Everything is normal, Tooru will say, but Hajime already knows, his mind just won’t accept that.

At this point, he’s convinced he’s just incapable of believing that Tooru would be fine for once, because Tooru has been happy and energetic and communicative and Hajime is still, somehow, unnerved. 

He finds himself watching Tooru carefully, watching for something wrong, but there’s nothing. 

He tries to keep it to himself, but Tooru picks up on it quickly. Hajime can tell he’s slightly annoyed by the relapse out of nowhere, but he continues to comfort Hajime just as patiently as before. 

“You haven’t been studying lately,” Hajime says, when he finds Tooru watching something when he gets back home one day. Somehow, he knows that’s not what’s wrong.  _ Nothing _ is wrong, and for some reason that’s what disturbs Hajime.

Tooru sighs and stands up, pausing the movie and looking down at him. “I have been studying,” Tooru says. “I’m just less tired, and it’s not taking me as long.”

Hajime chews at his lip. “You’re keeping up with your classes?” he asks.

“Yes,” Tooru says, and Hajime can tell he’s actively trying to keep his voice soft. “Straight As, Iwa-chan, and I’m all caught up with my grading too.”

There’s a long silence.

“You’re seeing Suga?” Hajime asks.

“Once a week,” Tooru says. He smiles. “Everything is fine, Iwa-chan.”

“I know,” Hajime says, but he doesn’t feel it.

-X-

It’s official. 

Hajime is now a terrible boyfriend.

He feels like shit when he finally gets to the Institute, but he needs to know. He knocks on the door and Ukai is only too happy to let him in. “No Oikawa?” he asks.

“Uh… not today,” Hajime says. “I actually just need to talk to Suga?”

“Sure. He just got home, he’s in the living room.”

Hajime sighs and finds Suga, sitting in the armchair. Suga looks up at him and smiles, though it’s a little as though he takes some pleasure in how flustered and guilty Hajime feels. “Oh my,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about Tooru,” Hajime says.

“Is he alright?” Suga asks.

“He says he’s meeting with you once a week,” Hajime says. 

“He is,” Suga says.

So he’s not lying. Hajime sighs, looking away. The shattered kitchen walls look almost as good as new. “And he’s fine?” Hajime continues.

“Yes,” Suga says. “As far as I can tell.”

Hajime looks back at him. “As far as you can tell?” he asks.

Suga looks him up and down. “Yes. I’m an empath, not a telepath. I can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking, just that he’s genuinely happy. And he is. Genuinely happy.”

Hajime frowns. 

“But you’re not,” Suga says, watching him carefully. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Hajime says. “I don’t think so, I just feel…”

“Well,” Suga says. “I mean, it’s Oikawa. He’s never been genuinely purely happy since he’s been here. I guess it’s kind of hard to get used to.” He smiles just as kindly as always.

Hajime groans. He’s not sure how sarcastic Suga is being right now. “I’m being paranoid,” he says, standing up. Suga frowns at him, poised to say something. “No, I’ve just… I’ve got to stop looking for something wrong, I’ll drive myself and Tooru crazy with it.”

“Hajime, it’s normal to be worried…” Suga says.

“I know,” Hajime growls. “I  _ know _ .” He shakes his head, buttoning his coat. “Thanks for answering my questions.”

He walks out, leaving Suga in the armchair looking on with worry.

When he gets home, Tooru is sitting on their sofa. He looks angry, though he’s clearly trying to hold it back. 

“So what,” he says, his voice burning with a sort of bitter sharpness. “Now the problem is that I’m too happy?”

“Did you root around in my mind for that?”  Hajime says. “Because I wasn’t thinking about that as I came up the stairs.”

“Oh, really?” Tooru says, his eyes hot, but on the edge of watering. “We’re going to discuss privacy issues after you went behind my back to interrogate my therapist?”

“I just wanted to make sure you really were going,” Hajime counters. “I didn’t  _ interrogate _ him.”

“Why did you even think I was lying?” Tooru says, trying very, very hard not to yell.

“I didn’t think you were lying, I just wanted to be  _ sure _ ,” Hajime says.

Tooru looks at him, jaw clenched. “There is nothing wrong with me, Hajime,” he says. “There’s something wrong with you.” He seems to know the moment he says it that the wording is more aggressive than he’d probably meant it to be, but Hajime is already incensed.

“Oh, really?” Hajime says. “So I’m just worried because I’m  _ crazy _ , huh?”

“That’s not how I said it,” Tooru says, closing his eyes and leaning back. “That’s not how I meant it.”

“Because you know what, Tooru?” Hajime continues. “You have been doing crazy shit all our lives, and then you  _ literally _ died, so…”

“I know!” Tooru cries. “I know, Hajime, I know that I have put you through more than too much, but Hajime, if you keep looking for something wrong with me you are not going to deal with what that’s done to  _ you _ and I am worried!” 

There are tears in his eyes and Hajime wants to just tell him he’s right, because he  _ is _ right, but Hajime can’t stop feeling that something is undeniably wrong. “How do you know nothing is wrong?” he asks. “How do you know there’s nothing left over from everything that happened to you?”

“Because nothing  _ feels _ wrong, Hajime!” Tooru yells. “It just feels like you’re trying to project the fact that you’re still shaken up onto  _ me _ instead of dealing with it!”

It’s a good point, but instead of listening to it, Hajime turns on his heel and storms out of the apartment.

He walks around the block and kicks at the snow angrily for an hour and then goes back. 

Tooru is chewing at his thumb when he gets in, and he looks up, painfully relieved when Hajime comes back. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“It’s fine,” Hajime says, pulling off his boots.

“And I shouldn’t have looked into your mind,” Tooru says. “I mean, any more than I do involuntarily. But Hajime, I really am worried about you.”

“I know you are,” Hajime says. “And you’re right.”

Tooru chews at his lip. “Maybe I’m too dismissive,” he concedes. “I mean, I really, really want things to be normal, but…” Hajime settles down on the sofa beside him, putting his arm around Tooru’s shoulders and pulling him until their foreheads touch.  Tooru sighs.“If you need something to feel more secure, I can… I want to help any way I can.”

“An MRI,” Hajime says. “Maybe, if I have something to look at, to hold, that says you’re ok, I’ll feel better.”

Tooru nods. “Alright.”

“And talk to the Professor,” Hajime continues.

“Sure,” Tooru says. He pauses. “But… Hajime… don’t take this the wrong way, but if we find out nothing is wrong, promise you’ll stop looking for it? That you’ll focus on yourself?”

Hajime sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “I promise.”

-X-

McCoy helps them get an MRI appointment fairly quickly with an acquaintance. Tooru is slightly cross about the entire exam, but he cooperates, and when he notices that Hajime is looking relieved, he gives what seems to be an honest smile and squeezes Hajime’s hand.

The MRI takes a while, but afterwards Hajime can look at the scans. Tooru sits behind him, rubbing at his ears. Even with the earplugs, an MRI machine is loud, so Hajime can’t blame him.

He doesn’t see anything wrong with the scans, but he lets McCoy and his friend look at it as well. “Well,” the doctor says. “I think maybe we can see some signs of strain here.” He points at a place on the scan. 

“That could be the source of his seizures, right?” Hajime says.

“Quite probably,” McCoy says. “Could they cause any damage without further stress?”

“I would say no, not particularly,” the doctor says. “From what you’ve told me it took massive amounts of strain to push this into a seizure, so as long as he’s avoiding that sort of stimulus, he should be fine. If you didn’t have previous concerns I wouldn’t have even brought it up.”

Hajime sighs. “Can I have a copy of these?” he asks. “Just as proof for myself?”

The doctor sighs, but he nods. “Sure.”

-X-

Hajime chews at his lip. With the flawless MRI, he feels even more silly about making Tooru go see the Professor. He’s starting to wonder whether he should just take it back and let Tooru relax for once. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tooru says, fiddling with his coat jacket. “I’ve always been kind of nervous about seeing the Professor with scary stuff but it’s not like I have a good reason for it. He’s a grumpy, scary old man but he’s got a soft heart in there. We’ll talk a little and then you have that peace of mind finally.”

Hajime sighs. “Alright,” he says. “I’m sorry to put you through all this.”

“It’s  _ fine _ ,” Tooru says. “We’ve been through a lot, this is nothing. I should have done this for you earlier, really.”

“Yeah,” Hajime murmurs. “It’s fine, I wanted to go back to normal right away too.”

Tooru smiles down at him and bumps his shoulder to Hajime’s. “You’ve got to buy me milk bread after, though!”

Hajime laughs at that. “Alright,” he says. “Fair enough.”

They get to the Institute, and the Professor is already waiting for them in the kitchen.

“Hajime-kun,” he says. “If you’d give us some privacy? It helps me get a better read.”

“Sure,” Hajime says.

“You can wait in my…” Tooru says, stopping for a moment to correct himself. “...old room.”

Hajime nods and climbs the stairs. Akaashi is in the room, reading a book. The room is slightly rearranged, but there’s still a bareness to Tooru’s side. What had been Tooru’s side. For some reason, it still makes Hajime a little sad.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Akaashi says, closing his book. “I hear you’re putting Oikawa-san through a few tests. Did something happen?”

“No,” Hajime says, sitting down on what used to be Tooru’s bed and is now more of a shelf with a sigh. “I’m just nervous for some reason.”

Akaashi is silent for a while. “You know when I was new here it took me a while to believe that no one would hurt me in this house,” he says. “It takes the mind a while to adjust to a new situation, even a better one.”

Hajime nods. “Yeah. Gods, I’m sure everything’s fine, I just can’t… feel like it, you know?”

“You should be patient with yourself,” Akaashi murmurs.

“I’m starting to get on Tooru’s nerves, I think,” Hajime says with a tired chuckle. 

“From what he says when he visits, I’m certain that’s not true,” Akaashi says. “He may be frustrated with the situation, or that you are unwell, but he is certainly not frustrated with you.”

Hajime groans, massaging his temple. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

Akaashi nods, quietly, and they sit in silence until Tooru comes upstairs. He smiles at Hajime. “I am all ok,” he says. “But the Professor wants to talk to you.”

Hajime stands up, steeling himself for a lecture on letting his anxiety get the better of him. Tooru squeezes his wrist on the way out with a supportive smile, but Hajime doesn’t feel much better because of it.

If Tooru really is fine, then Hajime has been agitating because of nothing, even though Tooru finally is getting a break. 

The Professor is still in the kitchen when he gets downstairs, and he gestures for Hajime to sit. Hajime does so, feeling miserable. “So…” he says, swallowing. “He’s really fine, huh?”

“So it would seem,” the Professor says. “McCoy said you were feeling better. Did something set this off?”

Hajime sighs. “He burned his finger a little and I panicked,” he mutters, resting his head on his hand. “It wasn’t even a serious burn, it just looked like he… ah. Nevermind.”

The Professor is silent. “Well, relapses happen,” he says after a while. “And it’s not exactly unreasonable to feel nervous after you’ve seen someone die once already.”

“I  _ know _ , I just… I felt so sure something was wrong, even though I wasn’t seeing  _ anything _ and… I don’t know.” He groans, putting his hands over his eyes. “I’m just going crazy or something.”

“You of all people should know that mental issues are not as simple as ‘going crazy,’” the Professor says, his face severe. “Grief and stress can and almost certainly will influence your judgement. That does not make your judgement less valuable.”

Hajime forces a nod. 

“Hajime, may I ask you something?” the Professor says.

Hajime looks up at him, frowning. “Sure.”

“How many times has your instinct been wrong,” the Professor says, slowly, “about Tooru?”

Hajime thinks back. “Uh,” he says. “Just this once, I guess. We’ve known each other for a long time.”

The Professor nods, fiddling with the arm of his chair. “I hesitate to bring this up,” he says. “I don’t want to cause any more unwarranted unrest, but…”

Hajime watches him, confused.

“... The fact is that Tooru is a great deal more powerful than I am,” the Professor continues, after a beat. “And… should he want to hide anything from me, he would be more than capable of doing so without detection.”

Hajime blinks at him. “You think… he’s hiding something?”

The Professor sighs. “No, there was merely…  a moment of doubt,” he says. “If you weren’t concerned I wouldn’t have even noticed it, but as certain as you are it simply makes me wonder if everything I saw was as true as it seemed or not.”

Hajime wants to deny it. He wants to say, Tooru wouldn’t do that, not when I’m  _ this _ scared. But maybe he would. Maybe he’d try to hide what was wrong and try to sort it out himself, so Hajime doesn’t end up more frightened.

“I want you to be very careful not to fall into a trap of mistaking your fear for your instinct,” the Professor says. “Please continue to talk to McCoy, to analyze your emotions carefully and consistently, but… if you would allow me, I would like to put up a block in your mind, so that, should you need to, you can shield certain thoughts from Tooru.”

“You want me to  _ lie  _ to him?” Hajime blurts.

“No,” the Professor says. “I don’t want you to mislead him in any way, I just want to ensure that he can’t evade you if he needs the help. He’s a talented liar, when it comes to hiding himself from the help others want to give him, and being able to read minds has only made that ability of his stronger. If you wish to help him, you have to be on even ground.”

Hajime hesitates. He’s not sure he  _ wants _ to hide  _ anything _ from Tooru. “I’ll be able to stop hiding if I want, right?” he says.

“Of course. It’s merely a telepathic tool,” the Professor says. “A wall, of sorts, to put certain things behind. And I trust you not to use it to sever the communication between you two, just to help Tooru fix it, if he needs to.”

Hajime sighs. “Alright,” he says. “Go for it.”

The Professor leans forwards and places his hands on Hajime’s head. There’s a strange feeling, for a moment, that Hajime can’t really describe, and he pulls away with a shudder when the Professor lets his hands fall away. 

In a strange, metaphysical sort of way, Hajime can taste the edges of where his unhidden thoughts become hidden thoughts. He tries to visualize setting this conversation behind the imaginary wall. “Like that?” Hajime asks.

The Professor nods. “Perfect,” he says. 

Hajime goes back up to the room, finding Tooru laughing with Akaashi about something. He looks up at Hajime, brown eyes seeming innocent. “Everything ok?” he asks. “What did he want to talk to you about?”

Hajime smiles weakly. “Just the usual,” he says. “About how it’s normal for me to be nervous.”

“So… we’re good now?” Tooru says.

“Yeah,” Hajime says, pushing the feelings of guilt that arise behind the wall. “Everything is ok.”

-X-

Somehow, Hajime still can’t convince himself that Tooru is lying, but he also can’t convince himself that Tooru isn’t lying.

Maybe the best way to settle this isn’t with sex, but that’s what he ends up deciding on.

Tooru is ravenous as usual, but Hajime stops him. “I want slow tonight,” he says. “I want to take care of you.”

Tooru pulls back. “Alright,” he murmurs, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t need to apologize or anything, though, if that’s why…”

Hajime shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I just want to.”

“Ok,” Tooru says, settling back into the pillows.

Hajime settles between his knees and rubs at his entrance, soft and slow. The minutes drag along, and Tooru watches him with bated breath as he presses just the very tip of his finger in and out, in and out. Tooru’s hands curl in the sheets, but he stays still, as though he’s trying to figure out what Hajime is thinking.

Honestly, Hajime doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

When he presses his finger in entirely, it hardly even feels like progress, just another slow crawl towards the climax. Tooru is slowly growing flushed and biting his lip to stifle his whimpers, but he doesn’t jolt at the finger. 

Hajime continues the same way with the next finger, first just playing with the rim, then sliding it in, well lubed, at a gruelingly slow place. 

Time might as well have stopped, because there is nothing outside of the two of them and the gentle in and out of Hajime’s fingers, first two, then three and then four. Tooru doesn’t even beg for more, watching Hajime like he’s entranced by the steady pace that Hajime takes.

When Hajime slides into him, he gasps, hips twitching downwards in a silent plea for more, but Hajime holds them steady. “Shhh,” he whispers. “Just let me go slow, babe.”

Tooru whimpers, but he does as he’s told.

Hajime adjusts his angle so every glacially slow thrust is against Tooru’s prostate, and Tooru chokes beneath him, head falling back. His noises are small, soft… Hajime runs his hands along Tooru’s hot skin, thumbing at his nipples, nibbling at his neck, gentle, careful touches.

“Can you come like this?” he whispers. “Just on my cock, exactly this slow.”

Tooru shakes his head, trying to get noises out but unable. “Hajime, touch me, please,” he manages after a few tries.

“Please,” Hajime says. “Please try to come like this.”

Tooru sobs, but he nods frantically. 

Hajime keeps going, slow, so slow, past what he’d thought his stamina would allow, oddly drawn in by the mounting desperation he can see in Tooru’s quivering body. 

“Please, Hajime,” Tooru whispers again, back bowing, but Hajime just holds him steady, and after a long, long while, Tooru gasps, twisting and arching and comes, silently, a scream caught in his mouth as his whole body shakes. 

Hajime draws him into his arms tightly and speeds up his thrusts, listening to the broken moans they wring out of Tooru. He wraps his hand around Tooru’s cock and jerks him, swiftly, so he can come from his cock as well, and soon enough they’re both spilling over, Hajime into Tooru’s hot body with a small sound into Tooru’s shoulder, and Tooru all over their chests, writhing and gasping for breath.

When Hajime pulls out, Tooru looks up at him, chest heaving. Hajime stares down at him. “I know you’re tired of this already,” he whispers. “But one more time. Look me in the eyes and tell me one more time everything is ok.”

Tooru can never lie like this. 

Tooru swallows, looks Hajime in the eyes and says, in a breathless voice and with a small smile, “Everything is ok.”

Tooru can never lie like this.

But he’s lying now.

-X-

Hajime bursts into Kuroo’s room, not bothering to wait for a response to his knock.

Two sets of eyes look up at him, one decidedly more annoyed than the other. The gold of Kenma’s clash with the red of Kuroo’s in such a way that they both look more intense.

“He’s not alright,” Hajime growls. 

“Wait, what happened?” Kuroo says, leaping to his feet. Kenma just glares.

“Nothing  _ happened _ , he’s just  _ lying  _ to me,” Hajime says.

Kuroo deflates. “Iwaizumi…” he tries, but Hajime shakes his head. He’s not imagining this.

“Look, I’ve spent all morning trying to read through old texts to find out what’s bothering me, but I can’t find anything. But something’s wrong, I’m sure of it, I just need a new set of eyes.”

Kuroo and Kenma’s look at him with equally judgemental stares, like a pair of alleycats on the same wavelength. 

“Hajime,” Kenma starts, but Hajime cuts him off with a vehement shake of the head.

“If it was Kuroo,” he says. “And something was wrong, something undetectable but just.  _ Something… _ wouldn’t you know? Just…  _ know _ ?”

Kenma is quiet, then says, “Give me your phone.”

Kuroo blinks down at him. “What? Kitten… are you serious?”

Hajime ignores him and steps forward, scrolling to the right place for Kenma. “This is the day he burned his finger,” he says. Kenma nods, taking the phone from his hand.

“Burned his finger?” Kuroo says. “Seriously, that’s all you’re going on?”

“Yeah,” Hajime says. “I know how crazy it sounds, but something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but I’m sure about it, alright?”

Kuroo sighs, crossing his arms. “Hajime,” he says. “Look, I’m not saying you’re crazy, but you are letting your worry get the better of you.”

“No,” Hajime says. “No, I’m not. Something’s wrong, I know it.”

Kuroo doesn’t budge. 

“Listen,” he says. “I’m not panicking right now, alright? This doesn’t feel like an anxiety attack, or a sudden thought, I’m  _ sure _ , ok?”

“You don’t have to be literally losing your mind to let anxiety get the better of you!” Kuroo says. “It’s an insidious thing, Hajime, you of all people should know how deeply rooted it can be.”

“Kuro,” Kenma says, quietly. “I don’t think he’s wrong.”

Hajime sits down beside him. “Did you find something?”

“Just that he was lying,” Kenma murmurs, not looking at him. “I scrolled back a bit, and this, here? Where he says he fell asleep on his laptop?”

Hajime nods, though the day is foggy to him at best.

“Well, it’s got letters from both sides of the keyboard. So unless he was tossing and turning a lot in those five minutes he was asleep, he lied.”

“That’s it?” Kuroo says. “Come on, maybe he just didn’t want to admit to a typo.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Kenma says. “But it’s more than a typo. It’s like he lost control of his hands for a second and still tried to keep typing. The keys are all over the place.”

“This sounds like a conspiracy theory,” Kuroo grumbles.

“So does ‘a bunch of scientists faked my death and gave me exploding hands in a basement laboratory’,” Kenma says. Kuroo scowls at him.

“Wait, wait,” Hajime says. “So you think he was trying to type something, failed, and then lied about it?” He leans over Kenma’s shoulder to look at the message.  **_it5'[ nmbo tmre_ **

Kenma is quiet for a while, fingers tracing over the keyboard of the phone. He freezes, suddenly, and the chill runs down Hajime’s spine.

“It’s not me,” he whispers.

Hajime and Kuroo both frown at him.

“Kuro,” he says, slowly. “Don’t you think, maybe, if I was replaced by someone who acted just the same and had all my memories, you’d still sense the difference?”

Kuroo is quiet, but Hajime doesn’t look at him, the horror of the situation crawling over his skin. 

“No matter how much it seems like him,” Kenma says, softly. “Whatever you’ve been living with these few months… I don’t think it’s Tooru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH. All that fluff was ANGST ALL ALONG.
> 
> Next week: Hajime confronts a doppelganger. I'm sure it goes fine. Semi... Semi tries so hard and (doesn't) get so far.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m aware,” Satori crows. “I want you to kill Iwaizumi Hajime. I want to see the body. Then we’ll carry on with our deal.”
> 
> There’s a long silence. Too long. “Fine,” the Phoenix hisses. “I can play your silly game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is this being posted on Friday? *awkward shrugging*
> 
> Content warnings: rape mentions. So many rape mentions. None of them refer to actual rape that happens, just potential rape, with the exception of one, which is referring to Eita's past (and not in an explicit way).
> 
> Also thanks to fxvixen, who helped me SO MUCH in constructing everything going on in this chapter.

“You sure you don’t want us to go with you?” Kuroo asks. 

Hajime shakes his head. “Whatever it is, I get the feeling it’s as attached to me as Tooru is, or it wouldn’t have bothered. I doubt it’ll hurt me,” he says. “But if it feels threatened who knows what it can do to Tooru.”

Kenma chews at his lip. “Be careful. We’ll be outside, just yell if something goes wrong.”

Hajime nods, then starts up the stairs.

Tooru, or rather, Tooru’s face, smiles at him when he gets inside, so overwhelmingly like Tooru and Hajime wants to drop the suspicion and say he must have been paranoid after all. “Welcome home, Iwa-chan! I was just going to ask if you wanted me to make tofu.”

“You’re not Tooru,” Hajime croaks, before he can lose his nerve.

Tooru’s eyes blink up at him. “What?”

“You’re  _ not Tooru _ ,” Hajime says, stronger this time. “So don’t talk to me pretending you are.”

“Who else would I be, Iwa-chan?” Tooru’s mouth says, looking concerned. Hajime is shaking. “Hajime, you’re scaring me, what’s this about?”

“Tooru sent the text,” Hajime says. “So he must still be in there. I want to talk to Tooru.”

“I  _ am _ Tooru,” not-Tooru says desperately, eyes shining with tears. He really does look frightened, like he really doesn’t understand what Hajime is talking about.

Hajime steels himself and says it again. “I want to talk to Tooru,” he says.

Tooru’s eyes stare up at him, pleading with him to see reason. Hajime refuses to yield. Tooru’s  nose sniffles, but then his eyes shift, going brighter and somehow still flatter. He wipes the tears from his eyes. “I told him not to send that text,” Tooru’s voice says, though it doesn’t quite sound like him anymore. “I don’t know why he couldn’t just  _ stop _ .”

“I want to talk to him,” Hajime says, voice quivering.

Tooru’s eyes look up at him, looking almost sheepish. “Yeah,” his voice says. “About that. You can’t.”

“What do you mean, I  _ can’t _ ,” Hajime hisses.

“He wouldn’t share!” the thing using Tooru’s body says, like it’s insulted by the fact that Tooru would fight for something that was always entirely and unquestionably  _ his _ . “He wouldn’t stop fighting me, he was going to ruin everything!” 

It looks up at Hajime hopefully, as though it thinks that Hajime will take its side.

It sighs, slumping back into a chair. “Anyway, I got rid of him.”

“Got. Rid. Of. Him?” Hajime grits out, rage flowing through his bones, even though his mind skates over the meaning like a bad record player. 

“Well, it wasn’t fair, alright!” it whines. “I brought him back and all I wanted was to be able to experience this big,  _ warm _ world and he just kept whining about how it’s  _ his _ body, and how he  _ needs _ to tell you and blah blah blah. I was fine with sharing this body, but he wanted to shake everything up and make you worry.”

“So you got rid of him,” Hajime says, and even out loud, for a second time, his brain doesn’t quite understand. He swallows. “Sticking your hand in the fire, was that… what? To break him in?”

It laughs. “Please.” It flicks at something on the table. “He was gone before that. I was just curious, what it would feel like in an uninhibited body, and since I was bored, I tried it. It’s odd, you know. A little bit of pain is good, too much isn’t.” It grins up at him, like Tooru would, but Tooru would have the twinkle of stars in his eyes. This thing has the soulless inferno that lurks behind that twinkling instead. “Fascinating.”

Hajime stares at it. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet. It doesn’t feel quite as real, with Tooru’s body still complaining and blabbering instead of still and silent in Hajime’s arms.

“Anyway,” it sighs. “After the text, when it got obvious he wasn’t going to give up, I just kind of…” It makes a little gesture, pantomiming pressing out a candle. “He was getting pretty weak anyway, fighting me so much.”

It says it in such a flippant manner that Hajime’s brain doesn’t register for a moment that what he’s talking about is those five minutes after the text, five minutes where Hajime was trying to convince himself not to worry about Tooru, five minutes in which Tooru was being murdered from the inside out. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

“Don’t look at me like that,” it sighs. “I’m exactly like him. I have all his memories and everything.”

“No,” Hajime says, backing up. “No, you’re nothing like him.”

“Come on,” it says, as though it’s being reasonable and he just won’t see it. “Hajime, we were happy here. You didn’t even notice the difference.”

“I did notice,” Hajime whispers. “I couldn’t figure it out, but I did notice.”

“Hajime,” it says, standing up. It looms, like this, the lighting giving it an odd glow. Tooru’s face was never this remorseless.

“You’re not him,” Hajime manages. “He would have never… he would have never killed someone for trying to get their own body back, he wouldn’t have lied to me like this.”

It laughs. “Are you serious? All he does is lie. Sure, he lies about how fiiiine he is, so that people won’t worry about him, but he’s nothing but lies. He’s constructed himself exactly the way he wants to be, needs to be, and I…” It steps closer, and Hajime steps back, hitting the wall. “... I can construct myself to be whatever  _ you _ want, Hajime.”

It steps closer again and leans over him, in a posture that’s meant to be gentle, but now that Hajime can properly see the feeling behind it, it disgusts him. “I can be whatever you need.”

“I need Tooru,” Hajime whispers.

“Then I’ll be Tooru,” it says, as though that’s how things work.

“You’re not Tooru!” Hajime cries, tears gathering in his eyes. “You’re  _ not Tooru, you took Tooru from me!” _

“No!” it says, fingers sliding up his shoulders. Hajime shudders under the touch that feels so familiar and yet so wrong. “I brought him back, but he wouldn’t let us be  _ happy,  _ so I…”

“I didn’t want to be happy with you!” Hajime shouts, tears streaming down his face. “I wanted to be happy with him!”

Those fingers tighten around his shoulders. “Well,  _ I _ want to be happy with you,” it says, petulant. “And Tooru’s gone, so I’m all you have left.”

“Don’t you dare,” Hajime hisses. He shoves it away. “Don’t you dare!”

It stumbles back, searching his face for answers. It doesn’t understand.

Hajime sniffles. “Gods, the… the movies, already,” he says. “That was you. And the astrophysics job, that… too…”

It huffs. “Gods, yeah,” he says. “He was  _ so _ adamant about that job, it was annoying. He was  _ obsessed.  _ Space this, space that… let me tell you, I’ve been in space for eons, and it is not that great. It’s cold and lonely. That’s why, now that I’m here, Hajime, I want to feel everything… And I want to feel it all with you…” It tries to cup his face in its hands and he pushes it away with a shout. 

“Don’t you dare!” he cries again. “Don’t you dare act like you can take his place!”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” it says, blinking down at him. “He was dead anyway. I brought him back, and he wouldn’t stop fussing, so I let him go again. But you can still have everything he was.”

“But you’re not. Him,” Hajime pushes out through gritted teeth. “I want. Him.”

It tilts its head, scrunching its nose up in the same way Tooru always did when he realized he wasn’t getting his way unless he tried something different. It had always been adorable, exciting. Seeing it now makes bile rise in Hajime’s throat.

“I could just make you,” it says. “Make you be happy with me, that is. I’ve got mind control, after all. That’s how I’ve been keeping up my grades this past month.” It laughs. “Tooru wouldn’t let me without freaking out about it.”

“Do it,” Hajime says, dizzy. “There’s nothing for me here without him, so if you want a puppet, fine. Just make sure I don’t have to see any of it.”

It stares at him, then presses him to the wall again. Its grip is searing this time, hot in a way that Hajime can’t fully comprehend. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Hajime,” it hisses. “We can be happy. I can be what you want.”

“No,” Hajime says. “You can’t.”  _ You can’t be him. _

It stares at him. He stares back, waiting for it to make its move.

Instead, it lets go. “Fine,” it says. “If you’re that upset about it, I’ll find someone else to make me feel what I want.”

And then it leaves, the apartment still without it, like a forgotten mausoleum. 

Kuroo and Kenma burst into the apartment a few seconds later. “Hajime?” Kenma says. “We just saw it leave without you, what happened?”

“It couldn’t do it,” Hajime says, oddly numb.

“What?” Kuroo asks. “Iwa, are you alright?”

Hajime blinks up at him. “It couldn’t do it,” he says. “It’s not like it’d feel bad. It doesn’t see the difference, so why would it give up?” He stares at him, and they look back at him, worried. “It couldn’t.”

“What are you talking about?” Kenma asks, finally.

“He’s still in there,” Hajime laughs. “It says it killed him, but I don’t think it managed to. He’s still in there.”

Kuroo and Kenma exchange looks. “Hajime…” Kuroo says softly.

“No,” Hajime says. “No, he’s going to be alright. We’re going to find a way to save him.”

Kuroo waivers, as though he doesn’t believe it, and is now wondering whether or not to give Hajime enough false hope to keep on living for as long as it takes to come to terms with it. Maybe he’s trying to consider if this is Hajime’s intuition speaking, and if it’s going to continue being right even when logic dictates it shouldn’t, or if this is the end of Hajime’s streak.

“Promise,” Hajime demands.  “Promise me he’s going to be alright.”

Kuroo pauses. His face twists with the look of a man who is not used to being outside of his comfort zone, and who has been ruthlessly tossed out of it by a cosmic entity that is much too far out of the realm of science and reason that Kuroo holds so dear. He crumples, in a lost way that doesn’t suit him. “I promise,” he says, utterly defeated. “I promise he’ll be alright.”

-X-

“Semi-san,” comes Shirabu’s voice, even though Eita doesn’t remember telling him to come in. “We have a situation.”

“Get Satori to deal with it,” Eita mutters, from under his blankets.

“Tendou-san is the situation,” Shirabu says. “Or at least part of it.”

Eita sits up at that. “What’s he done?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Shirabu says. “But Oikawa’s in the dining room. Or at least… something that looks very much like him. It looks like Tendou-san is trying to make a deal with it, but… well. He’s not exactly…”

Eita is out of the room in a second, and the final words, “...at his best right now,” and Shirabu’s sour face at being ignored go unheard and unseen. 

In general, Satori always has a cheerful tinge to his voice. What’s always been terrifying about him is that when he starts getting threatening, he never drops that joy. It’s like honey. Poisoned, dark honey, dripping over the person he’s ensnared in that sticky web.

That honey snatches Eita’s attention before he can even see the scene before them. It has an edge to it today, a bearing of teeth that Satori generally pretends is a grin, and that sends shivers down Eita’s spine as he hurries into the room, Shirabu at his heels.

Satori’s instant awareness of Eita is palpable, though he doesn’t look away from the prey he’s currently tangling into his web. Except, as Eita sees only a moment later, the prey isn’t so much prey as another predator.

The eyes that look at him are Oikawa’s, but whatever nestles behind them is very much not Oikawa.

Even when Oikawa was frightened, or when he was snarling at Wakatoshi with a defensive pettiness, there was always a softness to his chocolate brown eyes, the potential to melt when met with the right amount of warmth.

His eyes seem coppery and golden now, and they have a sort of fire behind them that burns like an inferno and still stays cold.

He looks away with a carelessness that makes Eita feel small and frightened. Somehow, he’s certain that whatever it is in Oikawa’s body, it would kill him with the same carelessness.

Satori slinks around it with a demeanor that is both familiar and entirely unlike how he plays with Eita. He seems to recognize that this plaything is one that will rip his throat out if he falters. Somehow, both of them carry a ruthless weight and poise, and everything but them fades into background noise.

“Anyway,” it says. “Iwaizumi  _ insists _ that he only wants the  _ real _ Oikawa, as though that means anything.” It sniffs, insulted. “So I suppose I’ll have to settle for whatever you can give me.”

“You want me to play house with you?” Satori drawls, as they prowl around each other, building their attacks and defenses as they size each other up for devouring. “That’s cute.”

“Please,” it says. “That was Iwaizumi’s little fantasy. I just want to  _ feel _ . I hear you’re good at making people feel what they want.”

Satori bares his teeth in something that might have been a grin on someone else’s face. “Of course,” he croons, leaning over Oikawa’s body. “I can be anyone, create anything, produce any sensation... For the right price.”

It doesn’t shy away from his threatening posture, returning it with a feral smirk. “Oh, really?” it whispers, intimately close to Satori. “A price, huh?”

Somehow, Eita can’t help but feel that their aura has focused on him, and he wants to shrink away. He can’t help but wonder what they’re thinking of. What it is that he’ll pay for, or how steep the price will be.

There’s a sort of silent clash between them for a moment, but then Satori smiles. “You know Wakatoshi’s plan, of course,” he says. “I suppose we were hoping he’d have your power, but this will work too. As long as you keep your end.”

“If you’re good enough,” it breathes, and they swirl around each other, the air between them charged.

It hits Eita, suddenly, what they’re negotiating.

“Wait,” he croaks. He hadn’t particularly meant to, and when the heads of both monsters swivel around to look at him with their ravenous looks, he almost takes off running, but somehow he remains. Perhaps the flight or fight reflex has been trained out of him. “I… Satori…” he stammers. “Can I… can I talk to you in private…?”

Satori untangles his presence from the thing’s and follows him into the hallway without a word of argument.

“Listen,” Eita says. “I know you don’t care, but… but you know what Wakatoshi wanted to destroy people for, and you know that that thing wants. We can’t… we can’t do that with someone unwilling, or we’re no better than the people we’re… ex… extinguishing.”

“Don’t worry,” Satori laughs. “Oikawa’s body is good looking enough. I think I’ll manage.”

Eita blinks at him for a moment. “Not  _ you _ ,” he snaps, when he realizes what Satori means. Of course he’d take this as a joke.

“No,” Satori says, with a sort of amusement that doesn’t feel much like amusement. “Of course not.”

“I meant Oikawa,” Eita says. “If he’s still in there, then… then…”

“Eita,” Satori chuckles. “Wakatoshi was gone after a single second of absorbing a little of the Phoenix’s power. It’s been… what? Months, since Oikawa took it in, if I’m guessing right. You  _ really _ think he’s still in there?”

Eita shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t… But if he  _ is _ , somehow… anyhow, you can’t touch him.”

Satori looks away with an unreadable expression, and Eita grabs at his hand. “Satori, please,” he whispers. “If you only ever do one thing for me, make it this.”

There’s a silent moment, in which Satori’s hand feels wrong in Eita’s hand, but it’s not long enough for Eita to figure out what’s different in it. After all, it’s not like Eita holds Satori’s hand very often. Satori laughs. “Just the one thing, huh?” he says, not looking at Eita.

“Please,” Eita says. “It doesn’t matter what the price is.”

Satori looks back over his shoulder. “You’ve never paid a price before,” he says, and it rings ominously, as though Satori’s only warning him that the price he’ll pay eventually has only grown steeper. Gods know how much steeper, now that Eita’s not only asked for a game, but for a kindness. “Not to me.”

He stalks away, summoning his cheeriest, most threatening voice. “Well,” he says, as they step back into the room. “If everyone else is agreed, I suppose we have a deal. But, you know, we have had our differences. We lost poor Waka…”

“He did that to himself,” the Phoenix scoffs.

“Yes, yes, we underestimated your power and all,” Satori says. “Still. I wouldn’t mind if you’d make the first step. Show us a little of what you can do, before we… hah. Get to business.”

It scowls at him, then shrugs. “Fine,” it says. “What do you want?”

“I’ll find you someone to kill,” Satori says, with a lethal grin. “And you can do a little show for us.”

It grins back with a jagged mirror image. “Sure,” it says. “But afterwards  _ you _ will show me what you and this world have to offer.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Satori says, with a staticky smile. 

-X-

A day goes by, then two, then four, and Satori goes about his business, either searching for someone to kill or pretending to. He lingers behind the Phoenix. The way he strings it along is fascinating to watch from the outside, avoiding any real questions about what he’s doing or when the Phoenix will gets what it wants, flirting and teasing just enough to keep it wanting.

He keeps it away from Eita, too, which is good, because Eita isn’t sure his mental guards are strong enough to fool the Phoenix like Satori does. Every so often, though, Eita will find it looking at him like a bug under its shoe.

“You really think this is what Ushijima-san would have wanted?” Shirabu asks, over dinner one day, while Satori is out playing with his pet.

“It’s still his plan, right?” Kawanishi says, throwing a grape up and into his mouth. Reon shrugs goodnaturedly, while Yamagata says nothing, because he’s misplaced something and is across the room looking for it.

“I trust Tendou-san!” Tsutomu volunteers, earning and failing to notice a collective eyeroll. “After all, he’s known… he knew Ushijima-san the longest.”

“I just don’t think it’s our interests he has in mind,” Shirabu mutters, and he glares at Eita, for some reason, like the fact that Eita has sex with the guy somehow makes him responsible for Wakatoshi putting Satori in charge.

“Where is he anyway?” Eita asks. “Maybe we shouldn’t be leaving those two out of sight.”

Shirabu laughs. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says. “If I were  _ you _ .”

Eita stands up quickly and goes to find Satori. He’s standing in the door of the room they’ve given the Phoenix, quiet and drawn in a way that Eita is surprised to see on him. He hears Eita coming, because he looks back for a moment, then turns back.

“I found the guy who first bought you,” Satori says quietly.

Eita shuffles up beside him without responding to that. The Phoenix is sprawled over the bed, fast asleep. “It sleeps?” he whispers.

Satori chuckles. “I think it was as surprised as you or me,” he says. He doesn’t really sound like himself. Eita watches him carefully. “This is his first time sleeping here.”

“So, what?” Eita says. “We kill the guy and then you…”

“I haven’t seen a single sign of Oikawa in there,” Satori murmurs. “And I’m pretty good with reading people.”

That’s true. Sometimes Eita thinks that Satori understands him thousands of times better than he understands himself. It’s terrifying to think about. “Then… I guess,” Eita says. “We let him kill the guy.”

He remembers that man’s face. He remembers what it had done to him. Somehow he doesn’t really want to see it again, not even to see it die. Although, to be honest, just being told that another person who hurt him is dead wouldn’t mean much.

“I guess,” Satori says.

“What?” Eita asks, narrowing his eyes. It’s not like Satori to sound so quiet. 

He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “Just asked for something impossible.”

Eita frowns, looking up at him carefully. He watches the Phoenix sleep, motionless, chewing at his lip. Eita wonders what he could have wanted so bad he’d be this disappointed. Regardless, if it’s impossible, it won’t make much difference to Eita.

Satisfied that there’s nothing to fear, Eita turns to go, tugging Satori with him, but he’s stopped when he hears a whimper. His blood runs cold as he turns back.

Oikawa rubs at his eyes with sloppy, quivering movements, like he’s not sure where his limbs are. He struggles to sit up, letting out painfully small sounds of fear and confusion when he can’t muster the energy.

“I-Iwa…” he murmurs, wrenching his eyes open.

“Shit,” Satori whispers, unfolding his arms as Eita freezes into a horrified ice sculpture beside him. “I got this.”

He bounds over to the bed, no doubt with an appallingly accurate disguise in place for Oikawa, and sits beside him. He speaks in what seems to be a soothing voice, but the way he lurches over Oikawa’s shaking frame with his hands draping over him like claws makes the voice seem wrong. “I’m here, sweetheart,” Satori croons, as though he were capable of love.

“Iwa,” Oikawa croaks, trying to cling onto Satori’s sleeve like a child, trying to use it to lever himself up, but this is Oikawa, not the Phoenix, and he’s as weak as it is strong. “N-not…” He gasps for air, as though even speaking is too much effort for him. The words are slurred, broken, like he can’t remember how to use his own tongue. “It’sss n… not…”

“It was just a nightmare,” Satori whispers, pressing him back.

Oikawa looks at him like a frightened child, shaking his head. He can’t quite do that right either. “N-not me,” he insists. “It’s not…  N-not m… I-Iwa… Iwa…” He makes another attempt to sit up, but Satori catches him again, seeming pleased with the fact that it’s so easy.

“Ssshh,” Satori whispers, stroking his hair gently, too gently for the situation, for the ruthless way he watches Oikawa’s feeble attempts to plead for help that Satori doesn’t intend to give him. “Go back to sleep, darling.”

Oikawa can’t manage another attempt to get up, but he squirms and cries softly until he collapses entirely, eyes rolling back as he tumbles back into a distressed sleep. Satori sits with him, pretending to give him comfort but looking smug at the fact that he can run his fingers along his face and Oikawa doesn’t have the strength to pull away or to understand why the love of his life is suddenly unmoved by his pleas.

“Gods,” Eita whispers, unsure if he’s disturbed by the way Oikawa sounds or the way Satori’s hands do a surprisingly good job at pretending to be gentle. “Satori… I can’t do this.”

Satori stands up and waltzes over to loom over Eita. Dammit, Eita doesn’t want to be afraid of him, but it’s hard to help. “Come on, Eita-kun, don’t get soft on me now,” he teases, tapping Eita’s nose like this is still just a game to him. “As bad as it sounds, this is good. It clearly won’t be long before you won’t have to worry about Oikawa anymore.”

“ _ Listen _ to him,” Eita pleads. “He sounds like a frightened  _ child. _ ”

“He’s not,” Satori says, voice flat for once as he glares down at Eita.

It crashes over Eita like a bucket of cold water. Satori makes it all seem so playful, but in the end he’s just baited Eita into being toyed with, yet again, for nothing but Satori’s amusement. “We can’t do this,” he says, a little stronger this time, holding Satori’s gaze.

He turns to go, but Satori catches his wrists and pulls him back in. “He’s already nearly gone,” Satori hisses. “We’re not  _ doing  _ anything to him, we’ve just got to wait it out.”

“He should be with Iwaizumi,” Eita says through gritted teeth. He tries to twist away, but Satori’s fingers are long and tight around him. “He might have a chance at helping him fight that… that thing.”

“Please,” Satori scoffs. “You heard him. It’s already over, and when Oikawa is gone that power will be  _ ours _ .” His eyes narrow, searching Eita’s face, like he’s lost the thread he meant to wrap Eita into his web with. “This is what Wakatoshi gave  _ everything _ for, what you’ve always  _ wanted. _ ”

“Let me go,” Eita hisses.

“Eita,” Satori breathes, his hand sliding over so he’s pinching Eita’s sleeve instead of grabbing his wrist, and for some reason even that is enough to keep Eita pinned. Eita can’t figure him out, but he doesn’t want to. “You can find  _ every  _ man who ever touched you and destroy them.  _ Isn’t _ that what you want?”

That promise has always been the only thing that kept Eita alive, but it feels hollow now. He remembers the blank feeling that killing the doctor had left, and the anger and hatred that always kept him chomping at the bit chills inside him, leaving him able to feel sick at the thought that Satori is dangling that hurt in front of him. It’s sick, and Eita despises him. “Let go,” he says.

“You can do  _ anything _ ,” he whispers. “No one’s ever going to hurt us again, Eita.”

Eita’s heart stumbles over the words and he gazes up at Satori, a crumbling stillness between them. Eita has never been able to read Satori, but for once, he sees the thoughts on his face skittering back behind the façade as Satori realizes what he said. It seems to frighten him, the idea that he’d inadvertently slipped himself in beside Eita, like he hadn’t meant to give himself a  place in the safehaven he’s describing.

The safehaven, more specifically, that Eita had always thought of as Wakatoshi’s gift, even though Wakatoshi and Satori have been together in all this since long before Eita was here.

“You,” he corrects, his grip on Eita’s sleeve loosening. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.” It almost sounds like he’s reminding himself.

As frightening as Satori is, the thought that Satori might actually have a soul in there is an even more terrifying thought.

He feels numb, suddenly, like his body has been filled with static. “One more day,” he whispers, tugging his sleeve from Satori’s frozen finger tips. “If he’s not gone by then, that means he’s hanging on with more than we thought, and we have to find a way to get him back to Iwaizumi.”

Satori watches him go, the cogs in his head audible even as Eita walks away. Eita, for one, hopes he’s plotting something devious, because the alternative is unthinkable.

-X-­

By the morning there’s no evidence of last night’s events. Not a hair out of place on Oikawa’s head, a chilling smile on his face. The only thing that seems wrong with Oikawa at the moment is that he is still very clearly not Oikawa at all. Eita still feels sick to his stomach, but he’s not even sure anymore if it’s because of Oikawa or Satori.

If Satori is still rattled after last night, he doesn’t show it. “Good morning, Phoenix-kun,” he cries jovially. “How are we this morning?”

The Phoenix fixes him with a weary glare. “I didn’t come to you to be treated like a porcelain doll,” he says, disturbingly cold. “As a matter of fact, I came here for something you still haven’t delivered. It sure is taking you a long time to find someone to kill.” He sniffs, in a picture of condescension. “Maybe I should take off, if you’re going to be so slow about everything.”

Eita is going to vomit.  _ He’s still in there, _ he thinks, trying to communicate this to Satori through a look.  _ I said one day, but he’s still in there, please, don’t touch him. _ He curses himself for giving Satori that time limit, but he can only hope that Satori won’t let it rush him into doing something even more wretched than what they’re already doing.

Oikawa’s body sits back against the couch, inviting and challenging in the way he folds one leg over the opposite knee. Satori reaches forward, matching his look as he runs his long fingers along Oikawa’s jaw.

Is Oikawa awake in there? He was present enough to try to escape while the Phoenix slept, but is he still aware now, wanting to jerk away but incapable of it? Eita doesn’t notice how badly he’s shaking until he drops the mug in his hand. It shatters with a startling crash.

Satori looks at him sidelong, Eita knows, but he can’t look, so he starts to pick up the pieces. Strangely enough, it’s Shirabu who crouches down beside him and helps. Or rather, takes over, because Eita’s hands are shaking and for some reason his vision is blurry.

“Please. As though anyone else could give you what you want like me,” Satori continues, eyes fixed on the Phoenix like they’d rather linger on Eita. The Phoenix snorts, and glances at Eita with something akin to pity instead of paying attention to Satori. Satori looks at him too, then jerks away and continues his game. “And I’d love to give you and that pretty face what you want, but I can’t,” he says snidely.

“Can’t?” the Phoenix grits out.

“Can’t,” Satori parrots back jovially. “Sorry. Ask me later!”

Eita doesn’t hear the rest of their conversation, because Shirabu takes his wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip. “I’ve got this, Semi-san,” he murmurs. “Go wash off. You’ve spilled coffee all over yourself.”

He says it slightly condescendingly, and if Eita wasn’t shaking so badly he’d probably be pissed at him for it. Instead he pulls away, standing up shakily and stumbling to the nearest bathroom. He looks disgusting, covered in coffee and with tear tracks stretching down his face. He grits his teeth and smashes the mirror, letting the glass dig into his knuckles.

It’s not enough. He’s feeling too much, or not enough, and the pain isn’t enough to even it out.

He barely manages to lean over the toilet before throwing up, gasping around the acidic taste in his mouth.

“I said I wouldn’t touch him until we were sure Oikawa’s gone,” comes Satori’s voice.

Semi would think he’s being made fun of, but now he’s not so sure. “Get out,” he croaks, slumping against the sink.

“Eita,” Satori whispers, softly.

“Don’t,” Eita says. “Don’t pretend you care.”

“I’m not,” Satori says, and then he’s gone.

-X-

It’s unfortunate that Satori’s room is on the way to Eita’s. The last thing he wants to do is hear Satori’s voice, and yet here he is, eavesdropping.

“We had a deal,” Oikawa’s voice says, sounding nothing like Oikawa had. Dry and angry, lacking in the little flouncing Oikawa always put in it.

“Did we?” Satori says cheerfully. “I guess we did. But you didn’t hold up your end, Phoenix-kun.”

“ _ I didn’t…?” _ the Phoenix hisses.

“Nope,” Satori says, like he’s having fun. “You said you were alone in there, but last night I talked to a little roommate of yours!”

Something smashes inside the room. “He was more persistent than I gave him credit for. But he’s  _ gone _ now.”

“You keep saying that, but he keeps popping up. Strange, isn’t it?”

Something else smashes. Eita leans forward ever so slightly to peer into the room. The Phoenix stands in front of Satori, hands on the wall behind him. Its posture is threatening, its aura frightful, but Satori looks entertained at best as he looks down at the Phoenix. “My, my, Phoenix-kun, is little Oikawa Tooru getting to you?”

The Phoenix clicks its tongue. “Please. He’s nothing. He wouldn’t have even made it this far without me. But as I said, he’s gone now.”

“I don’t believe you,” Satori sings happily. He’s going to get himself killed. Eita isn’t sure he cares.

But then his face darkens. He leans forward. “There are two things in this world that I care about,” he whispers. “ _ You _ can’t bring back one, but since the other was raped repeatedly, I don’t care  _ how _ sure you are, unless you can prove to me that you don’t have an unwilling ride-along in that head of yours, nothing is happening between us.”

Eita’s mouth goes dry. Does Satori know he’s here? Is this part of the game? Playing the both of them at once?

A part of him wants to admit that Satori has always given him exactly what he asked for. Another part wants to keep seeing him as a monster, because if he’s not a monster then what does that make Eita, who despised him every step of the way?

“How exactly do you want me to  _ prove _ it? We’re both aware I could easily dupe your telepaths.”

“I’m aware,” Satori crows. “I want you to kill Iwaizumi Hajime. I want to see the body. Then we’ll carry on with our deal.”

There’s a long silence. Too long. “Fine,” the Phoenix hisses. “I can play your silly game.”

“Go on, then,” Satori taunts.

With a wild snarl, the Phoenix pushes away from the wall, storming out of the room. Eita ducks aside to let him pass, but not quickly enough to avoid being seen by Satori. Satori stares at him, gripping the wall. Eita’s heart is thudding in his mouth somewhere.

“He won’t be able to do it,” Satori whispers. “Not if Oikawa is still alive.”

Eita can’t respond.

“It was the only way to send him home.”

The silence is unbearable.

“That’s what you wanted, right?”

“What do you care about what I want?”  _ I want you to be a monster. I want you to do as I ask even though I despise you. I wanted you to be cruel to me. I wanted to control your cruelty. _

“I’ve always done as you asked,” Satori says weakly. “Haven’t I?”

“Don’t ever speak to me again,” Eita croaks. “Don’t even look at me.”  _ I didn’t want you to love me.  _ He slams the door shut and hurries down the hall to his own room.

He throws himself down beside the bed and curls into himself. 

Finally, Eita has realized the price of his game.

It hadn’t occurred to him to think that it would be Satori who was paying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Here's the deal: I'm posting on Fridays from now on, but I will be SO VERY BUSY until next Monday (the 13th) and the next chapter is still missing so much editing and a very hard scene, so while I will *try* to upload on Friday, I doubt incredibly that I'll be able to do so. 
> 
> Which means you should almost certainly expect the next chapter to be posted the Friday after that (the 17th). Hopefully that will be manageable, though if I do slide out I promise it's not because I've forgotten about/lost interest in this story, and I am trying to post ASAP. 
> 
> That said. Next time: the Tendou scenes that made my beta want to punch me in the face a little. Also Hajime has a rough time, but the winner of the angst joust is still, as always, Oikawa.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenma may be alright, at first glance, but the Phoenix certainly hadn’t cared. It would have killed him, or anyone else. 
> 
> The children peer out of the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah I might be posting a week late." *posts early*
> 
> It's Friday in Hungary, my friends.
> 
> Content warnings: Nothing out of the ordinary. Semi narrates. Rape talk is abundant but never graphic. Consent is questionable at times. Relationships are dysfunctional. No actual rape or even sex ensues. Also, Hajime reacts to last chapter's close calls, so. Rape mentions there too, but as we know, no rape ensued. Also vague mentions of gore? Sort of? Not really, but if you're sensitive to that sort of thing be a bit cautious.
> 
> Anyway... I'VE FINISHED WRITING THIS STORY! WOW. (*sounds of editing-related tears in the background*) Soon I'll start on Bokuto's story, which will be a standalone fic, and hopefully a comedy, after this angst train.

Hajime can hear the others whispering. A few snatches of conversation float out. “... months?” and “...really think he’s still in there…” and “...gods what do you think it must have been like…” and “... what are we going to do about Hajime?”

Suga sits down beside him, still looking frazzled from the kids he’d just herded into the kitchen, though from what Hajime had heard, the kids are probably worse off after Suga’s brand of both kind and aggressive herding.

“If you’re here to convince me to let go of the idea that he’s still alive, don’t waste your breath,” Hajime says.

Gods, if he’d just listened to his instinct…

“No, no, not at all,” Suga says, waving his hands. “You’ve been right multiple times now, it would be silly to act as though this time is any different.”

“Kuroo doesn’t believe me,” Hajime mutters. “Probably the rest of them, too.”

“Kuroo is afraid of false hope. He only counts on things he can make happen, and this is… this is so far out of our hands, at this point, I’m not sure anyone is sure of anything anymore,” Suga sighs. “Do you have a plan?”

Hajime shakes his head. “I have no idea what to do. I just know he has to be alive,” he says. “And I have to get him back.”

_I should have noticed. I should have fixed this before it got this far._

“You can’t blame yourself. You noticed quite a bit more than we did,” Suga says. “And… we did try to convince you everything was alright.”

“Do you think moving in with me was a ruse?” Hajime whispers. “Just something to get me off my guard? Do you think Tooru even…?” His throat clenches. Somehow, that’s the most frightening thought. Well, other than the idea that Tooru really is dead, or what he’s going through if he’s not, but Hajime will shatter if he thinks of those. The most he can think of is starting his life with Tooru, even though Tooru was still terrified of it, wishing he was back in the Institute. He’d wanted, more than anything, for this to be a jump they made together. What if it had only been him?

“What does your gut tell you?” Suga asks.

“That I didn’t feel weird about anything then,” Hajime mutters. “Worried I’d lose him to some crazy accident, maybe, but…” The movies, maybe, had been a sign, but it had been after the party that Hajime had started feeling _off_.

“You haven’t been wrong yet,” Suga says. “And before everything happened, he was already considering it.”

Hajime nods. “I guess I’ll have to ask him,” he says. “When we’ve gotten him back.”

“Any idea where the Phoenix would have gone?” Akaashi asks, slipping out of the hallway and perching on the back of the sofa to look down at him. He doesn’t have an ounce of pity in his voice, and it’s comforting somehow.

Hajime looks up at him. “You believe me?”

Akaashi shrugs. “Does it matter?” he says. “You’re looking at someone who owes everything to blind optimism.”

Bokuto is behind him, nodding. “He’s gotta be alive!” he says. “I mean, if he came back once, he can’t die.”

Akaashi scowls a little, but he doesn’t point out the logical fallacies in that reasoning.

Kenma is quiet in the hallway, studying Kuroo as he murmurs, “I’ll do anything you think has any chance of helping Tooru. Even if it turns out in the end that…” He leaves the sentence hanging, and the heaviness in the air filters into the empty space.

Kuroo is curled up in the corner, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. Hajime has never seen him so wrung out and small.

“And Kuro has a promise to keep, so he doesn’t have any choice but helping,” Kenma adds. It’s strange to see him be the one to talk for Kuroo, rather than the other way around.

There’s a loud clearing of someone’s throat in the corner. It’s Yaku, and behind him, Lev, looking awkwardly tall, his tail twitching. Nishinoya stands with his hands on his hips in front of them. “This time we’re going to help too!” he says, with a confidence that actually manages to pick Hajime’s heart from the floor. “Last time everything happened too fast with Ushijima, but now we’re prepared! We’ll do what we can!”

Everyone and everything seems a little brighter the moment he says it.

“The Professor is out searching,” Suga says, still smiling from Nishinoya’s speech. “Shimada and Ukai too. If he shows up anywhere we have contacts, we’ll know right away.” He pauses. “Though I’d rather not get Kageyama in on this. The last fight left him pretty shaken.”

Hajime rubs at his forehead with the back of his hand, nodding. Having people behind him is reminding him that he doesn’t have time to think of what he’s done wrong so far. He has to focus on getting Tooru back now. Tooru is still in there, and they’re going to get him back. And once he’s back, they’ll work out how to fix everything. “It wanted to feel things,” he says. “It said it would find someone who will give him what he wants.”

“If it’s sex it wants,” Kenma says, seeing through him in a moment with those sharp gold eyes. “It can get that pretty much anywhere.”

“It’ll want it with Iwaizumi, though,” Bokuto says. “I mean, it’s got all of Tooru’s memories, it won’t just be able to let go, right?”

“Tendou-san,” Akaashi says, suddenly. “He impersonated Iwaizumi-san, earlier, perhaps…”

Hajime shudders. All he knows about Tendou is what Tooru very gingerly described when they met with Makki and Mattsun. Tooru was scared of him, that’s for sure, and if the Phoenix delivers his body straight to him…

He can’t help but recall the few moments they’d gotten on camera. Tendou had remained elusive. His red hair had been down, on the camera, where his illusions meant nothing, and he’d been careful to hide his face. He feels as unknowably dangerous as the Phoenix right now, and now Hajime can’t stop thinking of his long, spidery fingers all over Tooru’s body while Tooru can’t get away, can’t even ask for him to stop.

“Gods,” he wheezes.

Akaashi winces, looking slightly apologetic, but he doesn’t try to take it back.

“Tooru’s still in there,” Hajime says. It doesn’t matter what’s happening to him now. Either way, they have to get him back, as soon as possible, as carefully as possible, and everything else can be dealt with after Tooru is safe and sound in… in the Institute, or in the apartment or… just… just with Hajime. “We can’t let that happen to him. We need a plan.”

“Oh for gods’ sake,” says Tooru’s voice, which does not sound like Tooru’s voice at all anymore. “Don’t tell me you’re still hanging on to that _ridiculous_ idea as well.”

The Phoenix stands in the foyer, casually leaning against the wall.

There’s a moment of odd stillness.

Kenma is usually slower to react than the rest of them, but everyone is so frozen that this time he moves first, trying to tackle the Phoenix quickly. He’s a little off, though, because it’s clearly occurred to him that whatever he does to the Phoenix, he’ll do to Tooru too.

It’s likely that even if he hadn’t been off, though, the Phoenix would have made quick work of him, because it only takes a flick of the hand for flames to leap up around it and Kenma, the flames flinging Kenma straight through the wall.

Hajime has no idea how impact-proof Kenma is. Quite frankly, no one does, because everyone jolts forward, until they see Kenma pick himself back up, looking cross, at most.

Akaashi, the nearest to Hajime, frowns in a way that makes it obvious he’s summoning his powers, and the Phoenix’s gaze settles on him with a chilling calmness. Hajime leaps in front of him.

Kenma may be alright, at first glance, but the Phoenix certainly hadn’t cared. It would have killed him, or anyone else.

The children peer out of the kitchen.

“Stop!” he cries. “Stop, everyone just… stop.”

The Phoenix stares down at him with a cool look, something horribly ruthless on a face that wasn’t meant to be _quite_ that good at it.

“What do you want?” Hajime asks.

“I can’t get what I want until you’re dead,” Tooru says. “So I’m here to kill you, as tiring as that sounds. Honestly, how hard is it to give a guy some _sensation_.”

“Leave them out of it,” Hajime growls. “You can kill me,” _if you can kill me at all_ , “but leave everyone else out of it.”

Tooru’s… no, the Phoenix’s eyes narrow, but then it shrugs, and with a careless push it flings him through the glass doors with only barely enough time for Hajime to shield his neck and face before he finds himself in the backyard, rolling to his hands and knees in the grass.

The Phoenix drops down beside him, fending off an icy blast from Nishinoya with a fiery wall of his own. The fire leaps up around them. It’s not hot, not physically, but it still feels like being trapped in an inferno.

The Phoenix stands above him, with an animalistic grin. It’s not unlike the grins Tooru had always angled across the court, but those were never against Hajime and never quite so filled with malice.

“He won’t let you do it,” Hajime says, wiping blood from his mouth from where the impact jarred his teeth into his lip.

“He’s fucking _gone_ ,” it snarls. “Why won’t any of you people accept that? How the _fuck_ could someone like him _still be here._ He’s not even a speck of dust compared to me!”

Hajime grins back at it. “Prove it,” he says. He’s heard that tone before, the one the Phoenix has in its voice right now. _That_ is classic Tooru induced anger, more than enough proof that Tooru has wedged himself in there and won’t give up.

“I will!” it snaps, raising its hand, fire surging up around it.

The fingers come up, curling like talons, ready to strike, but they freeze before it can drop. The Phoenix looks up at the stalled hand with a startled glare, arm muscles flexing as it tries to fight its hand forward. “Why. Won’t. You. Die,” it growls.

Hajime sits up as best he can. “Tooru!” he cries. “Tooru, just keep fighting it! You can do it, just…”

The Phoenix manages to flick him back, but not with much force. “Oh, shut up. I’m finally going to take care of this _brat_ and then I’m taking your fucking _head_ to that stupid lizz… liza…”

It staggers, taking a step back.

“Tooru,” Hajime breathes, crawling forward. “Tooru!”

The eyes that meet his are a lot more scared this time around, but a lot more distant as well. Somehow, the fact that he’d been drawing the typical rage out of the Phoenix had given Hajime the impression that somewhere in there, deep down, Tooru was the typical Tooru as he fought for control.

That one glimpse tells him how wrong he is.

Tooru is crumbling. Functionally he might be fighting tooth and nail to keep going, but the look in his eyes says that somewhere on a more intimate level he can’t even bring himself to a crawl. His very being is in the process of being razed, without pause, to the ground.

 _How do I help him?_ Hajime thinks, feeling very small and very lost. _How do I help him out of this? This is so much bigger than me._

He ignores the feeling and extends his hand. Tooru has always been something bigger than him, and Hajime has always kept him rooted. Now is no exception. “Baby,” he whispers. “Take my hand. I know you’re tired,” _so much more than tired_ , “but you can do this. We can do this.”

Tooru shifts his head, like a shake, and takes another quivering step back.

“Tooru,” Hajime begs.

Tooru turns and swoops into the air, gone before Hajime can dash to his feet and grab at him. “Tooru!” Hajime screams after him, but Tooru, or the Phoenix, is gone yet again.

-X-

Eita hasn’t moved from his bed in what might have been hours or days.

Of all the cruel things Satori could have done to him, this is the worst.

Falling in love with him. With Semi Eita, who is at best the bare bones of a man.There’s something horribly disappointing in it, seeing a man-eating monster for so long and finding out that it’s only a starved dog with a craving for bones. Nothing but bones, just like Eita’s whittled down, empty existence.

What a joke.

This is just another one of Satori’s jokes, but this time, Satori has fooled himself with it too.

Eita can’t allow this to go on, not with Wakatoshi dead. Wakatoshi would have set Satori straight, surely, if he’d known, told him the punchline of this joke. The punchline being Eita, and that he will never, ever be something worth loving.

Why can’t Satori see that?

Who is Satori, even? Not the wretched monster that Eita had thought him to be. Not a rapist, or a demon, or…

Tsutomu’s unwavering trust. Reon’s smile when Satori does his thing. The fact that Satori reenlisted Kawanishi and Shirabu without Wakatoshi.

Has everyone been let in on this joke but Eita and Satori himself?

 _I just don’t think it’s our interests he has in mind_ , Shirabu had said, glaring at Eita.

 _You’ve never paid a price. Not to me,_ Satori had said. But now, without meaning to, he had asked for a price after all. A price that Eita can’t pay. He’d asked for Eita to be deserving of whatever amount of love Satori would give him. Honestly, Eita doesn’t even know how much Satori loves him, but it doesn’t matter. Any morsel of love he may feel is too much.

It only means that the empty chasm that keeps spreading through Eita now has a way to claim another victim.

Shirabu blows open his door. “Semi-san,” he wheezes. “It’s back and it’s angry, west wing. I’m getting Tsutomu, but Tendou already…”

Eita dashes past him and throws himself down the hallway towards the west wing.

When he swerves around the corner, flames lick along the walls, the ceiling, the floor. They aren’t hot, per se, but they feel as though they would devour Eita if he took one more step. He feels rooted to the spot.

In the middle of it, two figures appear as shadows, Satori and the Phoenix.

Eita had thought they were both monsters on the same plane, but now that he’s privy to the truth, he wishes he had dissuaded Satori from ever playing such a beast, especially if it was for Eita’s sake.

Gods, for Eita’s sake.

“You think you can control me?” the Phoenix roars. Nothing in that animalistic flame sounds like Oikawa Tooru anymore. “Your powers are nothing but charades!”

Satori hits the wall and something in Eita dislodges. The inexplicable mire around Satori melts away, and for a moment Eita thinks that he’s been injured by the Phoenix’s powers, but the truth is much more horrifying. There’s not an inch of skin on Satori’s body that isn’t scarred, but they’re old, old scars. Parts of his flesh are all but missing. He looks more like a demon than ever, but his eyes are frightened.

“Under all the facades, you’re nothing but a pathetic little…”

The Phoenix raises its hand for a final blow. Eita’s heart jolts with terror in a way he hadn’t thought possible anymore, and he throws himself in front of its hand. It snarls down at him, watching him throw out his arms with ungodly contempt.

Its face doesn’t show hesitation, but its hand stops, quivering for a moment. Roaring flames curl around its body like an inferno. Eita can’t look away, watching those eyes, almost coppery red in the smoldering glow around them. They don’t fit into that glaring snarl. Somehow, against all odds, Oikawa has gained a foothold in the flames.

Eita wonders if he’s burning alive in there, and if they’re going to burn with him if he slips.

He can barely breathe from the fear.

 _Something to lose_ , he thinks. _I’ve got something to lose again._

The Phoenix, or Oikawa, or some warring mixture of the two, stumbles back. One step. Two steps. It falls back, and Eita, for a moment, is certain that it’s Oikawa looking at him, looking terrified. The next moment, Oikawa bends his knees and leaps into the air, the ceiling crumbling around him as he goes, up and up and up until Eita can’t see him anymore.

Eita is still shaking when he lowers his arms. He turns slowly. Satori doesn’t look at him, slumped over. His red hair falls over his face, hiding the gnarled flesh beneath. It truly is a pathetic, hideous sight. “This is what you really look like,” Eita whispers.

Underneath the mirage, Eita had kind of expected him to look like kind of person who had brought their buddies when they had their way with him, showing off to them with a kind of cruelty they found supremely masculine. Attractive by most standards, but still sort of dull, with a greasy smile and flat eyes.

Satori is the opposite of what Eita had always imagined him to be, and the grotesqueness of the way he looks is at once horrifying and a greater relief than Eita has felt in years.

Satori doesn’t reply, quiet and defeated for the first time.

“What _happened_ to you,” Eita growls. He’s so tired of this, tired of not knowing the only person who seems matter to him anymore.

“Well,” Satori says, and it would sound jovial if not for the shattered slump of his shoulders. He keeps his head down, so his hair covers the worst of his ruined face. “I mean, imagine you’re living in a nice neighborhood, right, and there’s this nice young couple with a baby on the way, right?” Eita’s stomach twists already, but he listens on in horror. “And then… they miscarry, and they never get pregnant again. And then… you know, ten years later they die in a freak car accident, right?”

He laughs a little, curling in on himself. “And then when you get to their house you find a little demon kid sleeping in their basement. I mean… people make assumptions. And I… one second I was wondering why my parents never came home, and… the next the whole house was on fire. Barely made it out, and when I did… well, they tried to catch me coming out as well, just in case. I don’t know how I made it to the woods. Or how I didn’t bleed to death there. But… you know. I didn’t. And here we are.”

“Gods,” Eita says, sitting in a heap, his breath whistling out of him. “I thought… I thought it was all a sick _game_ to you. I thought you were using me and Wakatoshi and everyone but it didn’t _matter_ to you. Nothing _mattered_. At least… I thought.”

Satori looks up at him. Eita wishes he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t want him to look away now that he’s done it. He looks hopeful, and Eita doesn’t feel like he’s a person who should inspire hope in someone clearly just as broken as himself.

“You let me think you were a monster,” he croaks. “You let me. You _invited it_.”

“Please don’t cry,” Satori says, softly. He reaches forward to brush away the tears, but Eita slaps his hand away.

“Why would you do that?” he cries. “After all that… that bullshit about how no one was ever going to hurt us again, why would you let _me_ … let me…” Eita hasn’t cried in years. _Years_.

“Would you have believed anything else?” Satori whispers.

Eita curls in on himself, shaking his head, but the tears keep coming. “You cared,” he croaks. “You _cared_ and you let me think you were just toying with me?”

“I gave you what you asked for,” Satori pleads, shuffling close. “Eita, don’t cry, I’ll do anything.” He’s replacing the mirage, slowly but surely, and his face looks like it used to, but Eita can’t forget the scars. “You and Wakatoshi, you’re something else. You always were. It’s something in your eyes, ya know? And it didn’t matter what you wanted me for, I just… If there was anything I could give you… Anything either of you wanted…”

Eita lets himself fall forward onto Satori’s shoulder. “I was scared. I was scared for you,” he whispers. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to lose you.” He can feel Satori’s hand, hesitant, as it settles on his back. He jerks away. “You _lied_ to me.”

“You don’t remember,” Satori says, huffing out a bitter chuckle. “When Waka brought you to us you were terrified. And every time anyone tried to be nice to you, you just got even more scared, waiting for the other shoe to drop. So I dropped it for you, so you didn’t have to wait anymore.”

Eita doesn’t particularly remember. He only remembers the hazy pain of the collar and the burning he’d felt as air hit the skin again after so long. He remembers the softness of Wakatoshi’s arms around him as he’d carried him away, wrapped in Wakatoshi’s coat, and how his mind had revolted at the thought, at the certainty that such softness would be used against him.

“Being mean to you was the only way I could get you to eat. I kept threatening to take it away from you if you didn’t,” Satori adds.

Eita rubs tears from his eyes, then tears up again. “God, the s… sex,” he moans. “I thought… I thought for sure you wanted it… wanted me… I thought…” He whimpers, feeling nauseous. “Thought you only listened to what I told you to do because of Wakatoshi… in case he found out…”

Satori is quiet, but Eita can feel his guilt even as he curls up and tries to shut out the world. “You made me one of _them_. You…”

“No, Eita, no, I… I wanted it with you, I wanted to be with you…” Satori says, crawling over to sit beside him and stopping there, hand hovering over his shoulder.

“Not the way I asked,” Eita says, shaking his head.

Satori pauses at that. “I mean… I mean… I would’ve liked to make you happy,” he says finally. “And it didn’t do that, but it… it helped. You were calmer when you knew you could say no, even if I was terrible to you… especially then. And… and I liked that, so…”

Eita looks up at him, and he looks so damn _honest_ and Eita _hates him,_ he _hates_ him. Except he doesn’t. He can’t.

“Eita, it’s alright,” Satori says. “Eita. I knew I couldn’t make you or Waka happy. I mean… look at me. I know what I am. I know who I am. It’s alright. I just… I just wanted to give what I could. Everything I had… I wanted that.” When that just drags another sob out of Eita, he scrambles around to sit in front of him. “Hey!” he says, as though he’s trying to make Eita laugh. “Hey, come on, I…”

He slumps, as though he’s realized that there’s nothing he can say that will cheer Eita up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You were never supposed to find out. You were… you and Waka should have… you should have figured stuff out and… been happy, the two of you, ya know? But then Waka…” His face crumples and he doesn’t bother obscuring it this time. “Waka.”

 _Wakatoshi wasn’t just a playing card to me_ , Eita had said. Had said, when Satori was mourning twice as intensely as he was.

“I panicked. I wanted you to leave and figure stuff out on your own before I steered you wrong too, but then… Oikawa showed up and… I thought at least I could give you what you wanted. You know?”

“I don’t want it anymore,” Eita says, pulling in a hissing breath through his teeth. “I don’t, I… I just want… I want less _pain_. For everyone, I just… I want it to stop.”

Satori stares at him, then nods, with a sort of sickening desperation. “Alright. Whatever you want, Eita, I’ll do anything you want…”

Eita stands up, shakily. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know what I want from you, but… but for now we’ve got to help Oikawa. If he’s still in there…” He shakes his head. “We’re going to the Institute. Come on.”

Satori shoots to his feet and scampers after him, and Eita… Eita tries not to think about how eager and willing he is. A thousand conflicting thoughts and feelings have erupted in his head and his chest towards Satori, and the last thing he wants is to take note of any of them. Later. He can sort it all out later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote that entire last scene to Cascada. It was great. (It was not great.)
> 
> Next week: Anyone want to start a betting pool on who the last death will be?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How do you feel about whirlwinds?” he asks.
> 
> Keiji blinks down at him, then slowly brings himself to a wry smile. “They seem an excellent way to contain my powers, Noya-san,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early because this is who I am now, I guess. Also the roommate's alarm is on vibrate and still woke me up at 6 am. 
> 
> Content warnings: mention of a rape that didn't happen. Is that all? I think that's all. Let me know if I missed anything, though. It is, in fact, very early in the morning.
> 
> (Somewhere in the distance, Hanamaki looks up while Matsukawa reads the newspaper. "We haven't heard from Oikawa and Iwaizumi in a while, have we?" he says.
> 
> "They're probably going through something horrible again, and no one bothered to tell us," Matsukawa says.
> 
> "Maybe Oikawa turned out to be an alien after all," Hanamaki laughs.
> 
> They go back to eating a peaceful breakfast.)

Keiji has never felt so useless in his life, but to be fair, no one seems to be any more put together than he is right now. Kageyama is yelling at Sugawara about not being informed that there might have been a fight. McCoy and the Professor are dealing with the kids. Yaku is trying to coach Lev in the art of sweeping up glass. Lev seems to have cut himself. Nishinoya finds it uproariously funny.

Kenma seems to be trying to help Iwaizumi, who is covered in cuts and holding an icepack to his lip, but since it’s Kenma, he has even less of an idea of what to say than the rest of them. Though Kenma’s hesitance to speak is always obvious, Keiji has rarely seen him physically struggle to keep his sentences coherent, but right now it’s obvious how much he must always have to think about speaking.

Maybe that’s why he’s the only one with the stubbornness to keep trying to talk to Iwaizumi, despite the fact that they’re all shell-shocked.

Knowing that one’s friend has been taken over by a horrifyingly powerful being that would kill you without blinking an eye is horrifying enough, but seeing their face grotesquely stretched around that horror is vastly different.

“He’s dying,” Iwaizumi is saying, like a plea, a plea unlike anything Keiji has heard before.

Keiji has heard some pretty terrifying voices before. His captor’s drunk roaring when Keiji hid in the cabinets because it seemed like a particularly violent night. The doctor’s smooth, perverse drone as he pushed the broken fingers in Keiji’s hand back into place without anesthesia. The shake in his mother’s tone when she remembers that she was the one who was supposed to be picking him up on the day he was kidnapped.

He did not think there would be any more tones of voice that could shake him, but that plea in Iwaizumi’s voice is putting up quite a fight.

“I _saw_ him, Kenma, he’s _dying_. It’s killing his… his…” Iwaizumi continues, and Keiji tries to resist the urge to just walk out of the house and pretend this isn’t happening.

 _Think, you useless piece of shit,_ says the voice in his head that he usually manages to strangle into silence. _Oikawa-san helped you out of hell, why the fuck can’t you do the same for him?_

“Spirit,” Kenma says quietly, because they all know that it’s Oikawa’s spirit that has kept him going so far. For that to crumble would be devastating. Keiji knows this, but once again, seeing it on Iwaizumi’s face, hearing it in his voice is vastly different.

“I don’t even know where he took off to this time,” Iwaizumi whispers.

Tetsurou is curled up in the front hallway, hands over his ears. Koutarou sits with him, letting Tetsurou fall into his lap and hide there.

He’s chewing at his lip, thinking hard. The tiredest part of Keiji hopes that he’s trying to think of something to say that will pick everyone back up. The childish part of Keiji wishes he’d stop thinking and fight the voice in Keiji’s head so Keiji can think. The nasty part of Keiji tells him it’d be more useful if Keiji did the thinking anyway, and it despises Tetsurou for taking up Koutarou’s attention when Keiji is clearly more deserving.

Keiji wishes there was a part of him that knew what to do with the other parts.

The doorbell rings, and for a moment a ridiculous hope surges in Keiji, as though there’s a different Koutarou at the door, one who already knows what to say to everyone, or perhaps one who is here only for Keiji, to wrap his arms around Keiji until Keiji feels warm and knows what to say. “I’ve got it,” Keiji calls, as Kageyama’s panicked yelling dies down. The yelling doesn’t start back up again.

He drags himself to the front door and wrenches it open.

Semi Eita stares back at him.

This doesn’t help the meaningless mush in his brain to gain any direction at all. Keiji, to be honest, has no idea what to think about Semi. After all, a chance meeting and a little bit of timing are all that separate Keiji from Semi’s fate, and gods know what that would have made him. On the other hand, if Semi hadn’t kidnapped Oikawa in the first place, none of this would have happened.

Behind him, Tendou Satori perches awkwardly on his toes, the other culprit. Keiji still remembers seeing them on the camera footage right after they’d taken Tooru, while Iwaizumi raged behind him. Tendou had cleverly hidden his face the whole time, and it doesn’t take very long to realize he’s still doing it now, with his powers instead of his long red hair.

Keiji had had an idea about what he’d looked like. The look on his face right now, though, makes Keiji rethink why he’d be so cautious not to let people see. He doesn’t look, right now, like someone who is just trying to be scarier looking than he was born to be.

“Uh,” Semi says, his voice faint. “Hi.”

Keiji stares down at him. It occurs to him that he should be on his guard, in case they mean to attack again, but the whole world seems fuzzy and paused at the moment, so he just remains still. “Hi,” he replies.

Semi certainly doesn’t look like someone who means to attack. Neither does his companion.

They both look like kicked dogs, if anything. Or rather, dogs who have just realized they’ve been caught in something they weren’t supposed to be doing, and are now waiting for the kick.

Semi, especially, looks frightened, and the fact that Keiji knows the feelings behind that look spurs him back into action. The nasty part of him that wants to find the doctor’s corpse and shove his foot down it’s throat realigns with the childish part of him that wants to snuff out the doctor’s legacy, giving Keiji a direction again. “Do you want to come inside?” he asks.

It is a profoundly stupid question. It is also probably, maybe what Koutarou would ask, and looking at Semi, Keiji wants nothing more than to be like Koutarou in this moment, whatever Semi has done to any of them.

“Um,” Semi says. “Yes. Sure.”

Keiji lets them inside. Kenma looks up, but he’s too confused for anger. He looks at Keiji questioningly. Keiji shrugs, as though to ask for a chance to hear them out.

“What brings you here?” he asks Semi.

“We wanted to help,” Semi says. “With Oikawa. We wanted to help.”

Tetsurou looks to Kenma for an explanation with the same lost, borderline childish look that he’s had on since Oikawa vanished again. Kenma shrugs, as though passing on Keiji’s message. Koutarou, though, sees the same look on their faces that drew Keiji in, and looks as though he wants to ask them if they want some of the chocolates Keiji knows are melting in his pockets.

Before he can, Iwaizumi lights up with rage, drowning everyone else out. “What the _hell_ are they doing here?” he asks.

“They say they want to help,” Keiji murmurs.

“All of this is _their fault,_ so…” Iwaizumi growls.

“He’s not dead yet,” Tendou says, quietly. He doesn’t sound like someone who is often quiet.

Everyone turns to look at him. “He was still in there last we saw him,” Tendou continues. “For sure. He saved our lives. And we want to help him.”

“What?” Iwaizumi wheezes. “When did you see him?”

“A few hours ago,” Semi says.

“How’d he even… why was he… get to you?” Kenma asks, then grimaces.

“Why did he go back to you,” Keiji translates.

“Um,” Semi says. “He… he came to us a few days ago.” He looks at Tendou awkwardly.

“Not him,” Tendou says. “The Phoenix. It wanted to feel things, in exchange for power, but…”

“What. Things,” Iwaizumi grits out before he can finish, even though they all know. Or at the very least suspect it.

“Ha,” Tendou says, swallowing hard when he sees Iwaizumi’s clenched teeth. “Um. Well. I mean, my powers are illusions, so really… it… could have meant anything.” Iwaizumi narrows his eyes and Tendou backs up a little. “But… I mean… pretty sure it meant sex.”

Iwaizumi roars and dives for him, his fist cracking against Tendou’s face and the other hand grabbing his shirt, slamming him against the wall, hard. Semi gasps and reaches for him, but Keiji can also tell he’s afraid of being hit.

“ _HE WAS STILL IN THERE,_ ” Iwaizumi roars, in an inhuman tone. “ _AND YOU FUCKING… I’LL **KILL** YOU.”_

Keiji doesn’t think he’s exaggerating, and he looks at Kenma pleadingly. For a moment Kenma looks as though he might let him, but then he starts forward to stop Iwaizumi.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Tendou cries, arms shooting up. “I didn’t touch him! I was stalling, I swear!”

Iwaizumi pauses, breathing hard, fist raised.

Tendou swallows and continues a little slower. “Look I… I’m not a good person, I won’t say I am. But I draw the line at rape, alright? Not to mention Eita said…”

Semi looks away at that, eyes watering.

Iwaizumi’s grip loosens a little, letting Tendou put his feet on the ground. “I’m sorry, alright?” Tendou whispers. “We saw Oikawa, and… and I tried to send him back here when we realized. I figured that was the only way for Oikawa to get a foothold and… That’s why it came back, because it realized I’d tried to trick it and it was pissed.”

Iwaizumi slumps forward, holding onto Tendou’s shirt to steady himself. Tendou puts a hand under his nose. Keiji can’t see blood, but to be fair, it might be there beneath the mirage.“Where is he now?” Iwaizumi whispers. Tendou stands with his arms up, unsure of what to do. “You said you saw him, where is he?”

“He took off,” Semi says.

“Where?” Keiji murmurs.

Semi looks at him. His face gets odd whenever he looks at Keiji, and the expression annoys Keiji somehow. “Uh…” Semi says. “Up.”

“Up?” Tetsurou asks, sounding tired.

Koutarou is quiet for once, carefully watching to see where he’ll be needed. The amount of lost souls in the room seem to be reaching a critical mass, bringing out the part of Koutarou that gets the strongest when everyone else needs it the most. Keiji shuffles a little closer to him, and it makes him feel a little stronger too.

A little as though, if Koutarou steadies him just a little, he can throw himself into the situation and set everything right through sheer, unyielding force of will.

“Yeah, he just… you know. Flew off. Into the sky.”

“Maybe… I mean, it’s… he’s trying to… Tooru, I mean… maybe he’s trying to put it back,” Kenma says. “Even if he has to go with it.”

“Space,” Tetsurou says, sounding tired. “He’s somewhere in space.”

Iwaizumi slumps to his knees and laughs. “He took off into space. That’s Tooru for you.”

“I don’t think he’ll be able to stay in control for long,” Semi whispers. “And the Phoenix will be back to finish what it started.” He looks at Iwaizumi and cringes.

“Yeah, and it’s basically unstoppable,” Tetsurou mutters. The word undefeatable sounds foreign in Tetsurou’s mouth. “Unless you’ve got some grand idea under your sleeve.”

“We can get you more people,” Tendou says, cautiously inching away from Iwaizumi while he’s down. “At least.”

Semi blinks at him. “You think they’ll help?” he asks.

Tendou stares back at him, then looks away in something akin to shame. “Yeah,” he says, softly. “It’s what Waka would have wanted, so of course they’ll help.”

“Yeah, a few more mutants aren’t going to make enough of a difference,” Tetsurou says. “I mean, it’s ridiculously overpowered. Not to mention you’re all telepathic types, so you’d have to play it on its own playing field, except you’re people, and it’s a cosmic force.”

“But Oikawa-san isn’t,” Keiji says, the realization slicing through him like lightning. He finds, with some relief, that the faint sense of direction he’d gotten at the door and Koutarou’s soft strength have finally managed to shake Keiji into the brittle strength he’s been getting good at. Everyone turns to look at him. “The power is overwhelming, that’s true, but the body is still Oikawa’s, and it is impervious only to the same things as him. It’s human.”

“We just decided it… he probably took off into _space_ ,” Semi says.

“Yes, guarded by the Phoenix’s power,” Keiji says. “But if we could distract the Phoenix long enough to get to make an attack on Oikawa-san’s body, we might be able to keep it down long enough that we can force it to… prefer leaving, rather than staying.”

“What are you suggesting?” Tetsurou asks, horrified. “If Tooru’s still in there…”

“It’s not used to sensation,” Keiji continues, eerily calm. “That’s why it’s so hungry for pleasure. But it should be more sensitive to discomfort as well. And perhaps if we manage to make it uncomfortable enough to be in Oikawa-san’s body, it will leave.”

“And then what about Tooru?” Iwaizumi manages, from where he’s sitting crumpled on the floor.

“I’m not suggesting any lasting harm,” Keiji says. “My powers are purely physical, and quite uncomfortable, but they wouldn’t cause any actual damage.”

Iwaizumi looks up at him, the rings under his eyes dark and his eyes filling with tears. “But Tooru…” he whispers.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Keiji says, sharply. “Do you want Oikawa-san back, or would you like him to be physically comfortable up until the Phoenix finally manages to extinguish him properly?”

Iwaizumi gapes at him.

“All we need to do is make sure I can get to him,” Keiji says. “After that I’ll handle it. I have no qualms about continuing until we have Oikawa-san back.” _Or until the Phoenix grows accustomed to the discomfort and manages to get back on its feet and kill me,_ he doesn’t say, but he knows it lingers in the air nonetheless.

He himself feels unmoved by the thought, like an alternate Akaashi Keiji, a ruthless one, who fears nothing.

“I want to come with you,” says Koutarou.

Keiji freezes, turning around. Koutarou looks back at him, feet set and shoulders squared.

“No,” Keiji says. “No, you’ll only get hurt.”

“You’re risking your life,” Koutarou says, holding his gaze firmly. “I won’t let you do it alone.”

“Kenma and Tetsurou will…” Keiji tries, but Koutarou shakes his head.

“If you fail it’ll wipe out all of you, right?” Koutarou says. “Ushijima only had a little bit of its power, and I saw what he did to this place.”

Tendou clutches at his chest, curling around his hand as if the sound of Ushijima’s name causes him pain, but Keiji couldn’t care less about what that’s about. The world seems to narrow to Koutarou and Koutarou alone.

Soft, strong, painfully human Koutarou.

“It’s not gonna matter if you have powers or not, if it gets that far,” Koutarou says. “So I don’t wanna be sitting at home, waiting to see if I’ve lost all three of you in one go.”

Keiji stares at him. He wants Koutarou to be safe, at any costs, but he also knows that it would destroy Koutarou to be left alone.

“I’ll stay out of the way, I promise,” Koutarou pleads. “Even if it looks like you might get hurt and I’m scared! Really!”

“Alright,” Keiji whispers. “Alright, you can come, but please, be careful.”

“I will!” Koutarou says, smiling brightly.

Keiji looks away before he can panic.

-X-

Tendou disappears for a few hours, then comes back with a host of characters. They set up in the kitchen to discuss strategy.

Surprisingly, Keiji finds himself getting along with Ushjima’s men fairly well, now that they’re helping. They aren’t as power hungry or as ruthless as Keiji had imagined. It seems, rather, that they are all people who just wanted to put their foot down and tell the world they are not lesser, and though their idea of how to do it was disastrous, Keiji can see the appeal.

“I don’t know how well I could control this thing,” Kawanishi says. “It’s a lot stronger than me, and my powers are more persuasive than just straight up control. But I think if Tendou backs me up, we should be able to give you a few seconds to get it off balance.”

Tendou nods. “I doubt I can really rattle it, but I can sure make its world pretty weird for a while,” he says. “We’d all have to hit it immediately, though. It’ll have no trouble guarding against us mentally after it sees what we’re up to. We won’t have time for gaps.”

“If I could rig up something to set off a bunch of small explosions,” Tetsurou manages, finally looking a bit more like himself, now that he has something to do. “Kenma could go in for a tackle.”

“Goshiki and I could follow up Goshiki’s better with psychokinetic attacks, but I could set up a shield for them too,” Yamagata adds.

Goshiki nods eagerly.

Shirabu eyes Tetsurou. “How are you with cards?” he asks.

The conversation continues, Yaku trying to get Lev to pace himself as he offers to teleport everyone into unreasonable places. Noya is surprisingly quiet, but Keiji can see an idea stewing in his mind. Iwaizumi is bringing up the idea of luring the Phoenix to a neutral location with Sugawara.

Everything seems hopeful, for a moment, and Keiji is coming to realize that much of that hope hinges on him.

A panic attack is constantly just around the corner.

He considers reaching out to Koutarou, who is really just hovering about, lifting moods and doing surprisingly well at staying out of the way.  He’s probably trying to prove a point to Keiji, about how well he’s able to watch out for himself, which is, in fact, rather encouraging.

Still, Keiji finds himself watching Semi as he withdraws, sitting on the steps and staring into the kitchen, his eyes following Tendou as he warily allows Koutarou to make him laugh over something, which in turn gets a few other people to smile.

Keiji sighs and sits beside Semi. “Thoughts?” he asks.

Semi shrugs. “My life is a lie, everyone around me is twice the person I thought they were, and I’m not half the person I thought I was,” he says, blankly. He chuckles bitterly. “Which, you know, is funny, because I really thought I was at zero.”

“Sounds like things are better than you thought they were,” Keiji says. “Perhaps that’s an opportunity you should seize.”

Semi lets out a harsh laugh. “Don’t,” he says, looking up at Keiji with a sort of malice that’s pathetic and laughable and makes Keiji want to cry. “Don’t act like we’ve been through the same thing. You might have gotten away early enough that you can still pretend you can live your fairytale life with your sweet boyfriend but that’s nothing like that left for me.”

Keiji stares at him, a sort of quiet anger flaring in his chest. He grabs hold of it, tries to form it into something good. “Tendou-san,” he says. “He shows people their worst fears, right?”

“He’s just guessing,” Semi says, slumping against the railing. “He thinks he’s a monster,” he adds, looking blankly at the wall opposite to him. “Because he looks the way he looks, or something.”

“He guessed right,” Keiji says, filing away the rest of the knowledge for later. “For me. I’m fairly certain that he knew exactly what he could have showed me to terrify me. At least, close enough. He couldn’t do it. That’s why he fled, last time we met, the moment he noticed I was present.”

Semi frowns at him.

“Koutarou has been nothing but kind to me,” Keiji whispers, staring at the wall as well. “He is the most loving, patient, honest and beautiful soul that has ever graced this earth and he has saved me in every way it is possible to save a person. And yet, what I fear most is that someday it will turn out that he was working for the doctor all along. That this is how he always meant to break me.”

That only gets him silence.

“I wake up sometimes, from nightmares like that,” Keiji says. “And sometimes I am so panicked that I want to crawl out of his arms, even though somewhere deeper down I know that there is no safer place for me, and run, and never look back. Just in case.” He lets out a long breath. “You are not the only one who fears kindness, Semi-san.”

He looks back to find Semi staring at his hands and feet, falling into himself like the pit in his chest is too heavy to fit his way out of it.

“If you think I don’t understand the weight of what you’ve been through, of what I escaped, you are the one who is childish and naive,” Keiji continues. “Do not suggest that I have no idea what I’m talking about. I wake up, every morning, and I make the decision to try my hardest to be happy. Some days it is easy. Some days it is like dragging myself along hot coals. I don’t think, at this point, that there will ever come a time when it is not difficult.”

“You’re stronger than me,” Semi whispers. “You were strong enough to run before he broke you.”

“Luckier,” Keiji corrects with a sigh. “I don’t want to say that the road ahead of you is comparable to the road ahead of me. You’ve been through more than I have, and we’re different people. But I think you’ve shown you want to fight, and I fully believe that you should.”

Semi pulls his knees under his chin. “I don’t know what I want,” he whispers. “And until now, I didn’t think it mattered. To anyone.” He glances at Tendou, then looks away. “I feel so lost. I already was, but with Wakatoshi gone…”

Keiji blinks. He says it with an odd sort of finality. “Wait,” Keiji says. “What…”

“Keiji!” Kenma says. “We could use you in here.”

Semi sighs and stands up. “Doesn’t matter. First we have to fix what we’ve done, then we can try fixing me, if there’s enough left to fix.” The way he says it isn’t too optimistic, but he’s gone before Keiji can protest. Keiji frowns and pads after him.

“What is it?” he asks, once he’s back in the kitchen.

Noya grins up at him. Keiji isn’t sure when he started thinking of him with a nickname. Keiji doesn’t really do nicknames, but Noya is the embodiment of a nickname, somehow.

“How do you feel about whirlwinds?” he asks.

Keiji blinks down at him, then slowly brings himself to a wry smile. “They seem an excellent way to contain my powers, Noya-san,” he says.

-X-

They end up hiking out of town a little to find an empty clearing. The Professor sets up some kind of telepathic shield for them, hopefully enough for them to retain the element of surprise, but he quickly returns with Sugawara to make sure the children at the Institute are protected. Kageyama stays with them, which Keiji assumes is both a precaution and a clever way to lure Kageyama out of any fights.

Keiji understands. Seeing Oikawa die once is clearly not something that Kageyama has gotten over just yet. Keiji can still remember the pale and horrified face he’d made when he stumbled out of the kitchen.

Koutarou is quiet behind him, eyeing Iwaizumi, who seems to be looking a little green.

Now that he’s set aside his own shock in order to act, it strikes him how this is all twice the ordeal for Iwaizumi. Keiji can’t imagine what it must be like, sitting around acting as bait for the creature that’s taken over the love of your life. Keiji tries to imagine it, seeing that kind of animal look on Koutarou’s face, being told with that chilling ruthlessness, in Koutarou’s voice, _I’m here to kill you._

Keiji feels shivery and panicked just thinking about it.

Koutarou speeds up a little and slaps Iwaizumi on the back, hard enough to shake Iwaizumi almost off his feet. He grins. “We’ll have him back soon, yeah?” he says, not a sliver of question in his voice.

Tears gather in Iwaizumi’s eyes, but he nods. “Yeah.”

Koutarou trots back to Keiji, and Keiji pulls him in for a kiss. “Just in case,” he whispers.

“You’re gonna be great, babe,” Koutarou murmurs.

Keiji nods, but he finds himself turning to Tetsurou too. Tetsurou understands the look, kissing him softly. Kenma puts his hands up when Keiji looks at him the same way. “You need all the strength you can get,” he murmurs.

Keiji nods and pulls him in for a hug.

He is not looking forward to the moment he has to fight without them, but as long as they’re nearby, ready to die with him if need be, he feels as though he will be able to do anything.

“It’s nearby,” Semi says, quietly. His eyes linger on Keiji’s boyfriends with a mixture of fear and hunger.

Though, Keiji thinks, perhaps the fear is more due to the fact that Tendou will be among the first to attack the Phoenix.

Keiji takes a deep breath and focuses on himself. He can’t allow himself to contemplate failure. This is not a situation where he can plan for every eventuality. If he begins to wonder if Oikawa might have expelled the Phoenix in space and frozen to death or if his powers will be strong enough to keep the Phoenix down, he will not be able to attack as thoroughly as he knows he must.

They don’t have to wait much longer.

The fire crops up before the Phoenix is anywhere in sight, consuming the entire field with a nightmarish light. It spirals up into the air, meeting Oikawa’s body as it drops down into the terrifying hell it has created around itself.

Keiji feels as though he’s looking at a god, a thing so great that beside it he is only a mere ant.

He feels small enough to be crushed in a single blow, but it doesn’t frighten him. His captors had made him feel just as small and they had caved to his powers every time he stood up to them. He glances back at Koutarou, whose eyes glow in the eerie light. Koutarou nods back at him, and Keiji doesn’t feel small at all in his eyes.

When he looks back at the Phoenix, it’s easier to remember that it’s Oikawa’s face that looks back at him, however much it may look like a glowing, radiating deity in the fire.

The Phoenix’s eyes zero in on Iwaizumi, who suddenly doesn’t seem as sure of himself as he was the last time the Phoenix came for him. Keiji tries not to think of what that means for Oikawa.

“Alright,” he says, sounding frustrated. Something in its tone makes Iwaizumi stand up straighter as he stares it down. “Let’s try this _one more time_.”

It only has eyes for Iwaizumi, making it easy for Tendou and Kawanishi to creep closer. Tendou looks extremely apprehensive to get anywhere near the Phoenix, but he doesn’t back away. The fire flickers, the Phoenix shaking its head, swatting at something invisible.

“Will you fucking _stop_ ,” it growls, but its distraction allows Tetsurou to slide into place, sending up a shower of glowing cards that explode into a shower of fireworks in the air.

The Phoenix instinctively brings up a hand to shield its eyes, giving Kenma just enough time to run at it, reaching back to cradle the back of Oikawa’s head as he bodychecks the Phoenix into the ground.

The Phoenix scrambles up quickly, though not fast enough to catch Kenma’s ankle as he swoops away, Yamagata’s shield protecting him from the flailing bursts of psychokinetic flames. Tsutomu’s powers slice through the air to knock the Phoenix down while it’s distracted with Kenma.

Before it can get up again, Noya’s ice flurries surround it, a stationary, circular snowstorm that stretches up into the sky. Yaku pushes Lev forward, and Lev latches onto Keiji. “Ready, Akaashi-san?” Lev asks.

Keiji does not feel particularly ready, but he nods, and before he knows it he is in the middle of the storm, shielded from the worst of it by another of Yamagata’s shields.

Lev vanishes, and the only ones left in the howling, freezing winds are Keiji and the Phoenix, shivering and spitting on its hands and knees.

Keiji thinks of every pheromone he can muster that might be the least bit uncomfortable, and unleashes as much of each of them as he can, quickly, before the Phoenix leaps at him.

The Phoenix chokes, trying to crawl forward but unable to get up. Keiji wonders how it would kill him if it could. Slowly, vindictively or quickly, like a fly?

It shakes its head desperately. “Stop it!” it cries, sounding so much like Oikawa that Keiji nearly listens.

 _It’s not him_ , Keiji says, steeling himself and staring it down. There is no room for slipping here. Not a step, not a second can be out of place, or Keiji is dead. He knows what this cocktail of his own pheromones feels like. If anything will chase the Phoenix out of this body, this is it.

This will work.

The cold wind tears at him as he silences himself to the core. He draws himself up, feeling the wind of the storm whipping at his hair, the swirling, trapped air filling with his pheromones.

The Phoenix gasps, floundering. “Stop it!” it pleads again, much more breathless this time. “You’ll kill him if you kill me!”

 _Aha,_ Keiji thinks, blearily. _It’s panicking._

He is not used to straining himself like this. He hopes he’ll be able to persevere longer than the Phoenix.

 _Of course you can,_ says Koutarou’s voice in the back of his mind. _You’re like… super strong._

Keiji nearly smiles. The Phoenix looks horrified as it realizes that Keiji doesn’t mean to give him any mercy at all. After all, his powers aren’t deadly, at least not like this. He won’t kill Oikawa, and he certainly won’t back down unless they’ve gotten Oikawa back.

“Stop!” the Phoenix shrieks, desperately.

“Leave him,” he says, remarkably steadily. “Leave him and it’ll stop.”

“ _I AM NOT GOING BACK,”_ the Phoenix shrieks, in a sort of snarl that Tooru’s face simply wasn’t made for. Keiji has seen some pretty impressive snarls on Tooru’s face, but _this_ , this is something beyond animal.

Keiji doesn’t so much as budge, though he’s starting to grow nervous at the way the Phoenix is managing to get its hands and knees under itself again. He can tell that Tetsurou is starting to grow nervous too, and he can see Koutarou and Kenma exchanging looks as though they’re contemplating whether or not it’s time to pull Keiji away.

But quite frankly, if the Phoenix can get a hold of itself well enough to get at Keiji, they’re all doomed.

Keiji hopes that someone is thinking of a back up plan, because the kind of pheromone flow Keiji is giving it here is taking all his concentration and he doesn’t have the strength to come up with anything else but a determination to see his old plan through.

Everything behind him is hazy, but he sees that Tetsurou is thinking again. _Good,_  he manages to think, but then Semi shifts.

He looks at Keiji, then at Tetsurou, then glances back at Shirabu, who frowns for a moment, then elbows at Kawanishi beside him. Semi nods at them, then looks at Tendou. “I’m sorry,” he says, just loud enough for them to hear. Keiji’s concentration nearly drops when he realizes what Semi’s planning. “But it’s not going to leave without somewhere else to go.”

Tendou tilts his head.

“Wait,” Tendou says, his eyes widening, reaching the same realization Keiji has just gotten to, and when Semi bounds forward to join Keiji, he tries to leap after him. Kawanishi catches him as he goes. He growls and kicks at him, stretching his arms out after Semi with a terrified look. “Eita!”

“Hey!” Semi shouts into the whirlwind. Keiji looks back at him, horror creeping over him. His concentration is destroyed, but the Phoenix is distracted by Semi too much to notice the slip. Keiji can’t look away, like he’s watching a car crash. “Hey, you want somewhere to go? Come on! I’m wide open.”

The Phoenix doesn’t hesitate. Tooru’s body lights up, flames licking up around him and then spilling into a large tower that looks almost like an eagle. It swoops down, swirling around Semi before dissolving into him. He goes rigid, poised like he’s ready to scream, but it never happens.

Instead, he stumbles back, the glow fading, and hunches over.

Everything drops for a moment. Tooru’s body keels over with a thud, frighteningly still. “Tooru!” Hajime cries, leaping forward to get to him.

Suddenly, everyone is thrown back onto the ground. Keiji feels as though a massive weight has settled down onto him, and he can barely roll over to look up at Semi, who is laughing with a sort of malice he hadn’t seemed strong enough for before. He looks up with a wild look in his eyes. “You really think that _this_ one is going to be strong enough to stop me from killing _all_ of you? I am…”

It stops suddenly with a gasp, stumbling, and the weight lets up. A small stream of blood drips from Semi’s nose.

“Actually,” Shirabu says, matter-of-fact. “He’s not strong enough to hold you at all.”

And he’d known it.

Semi’s eyes go wide as the Phoenix staggers back and then collapses all together, choking. “What…” the Phoenix wheezes, trying to roll back onto its feet and failing.

Tendou kicks his way out of Kawanishi’s grasp and races towards him, but he’s swept off his feet by one last burst of energy, Semi’s body writhing as the air around him bursts into flames that swirl up and give a sort of shriek into the cold night before they’re sucked away by the starry sky.

Semi’s body stays motionless, staring up at the sky, blood dripping down his cheek.

Tendou crawls forward with a small, broken, “Eita?” He reaches forward, as though to touch his face, then draws back, as though it’s not allowed. He lets out a soft laugh and sits back onto his heels and stares at the sky. “I _told_ you, didn’t I?” he whispers, and then goes silent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really running out of telepaths here. (Also remember when straight up permanent character death was tagged for a while and then vanished when I realized I'd, dunno, lost my mind? Yeah. Ha. Haha. Can you imagine.)
> 
> Also I'd just like to mention that I wrote that death scene to Cascada's Piece of Heaven and writing is a joke.
> 
> Next week: Oikawa sits up, laughs it off. Also Semi didn't actually die, he's just sleeping. Also Ushijima walks his thing off finally. Wow, that was wild, they all say, and they go get ice cream. It's chill. Everyone's fine. Don't worry about it.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ssssh!” Shirabu hisses waving at him wildly. “It’s not gone.”
> 
> “What?” Tendou asks, bounding to his feet. “What do you mean it’s not…?”
> 
> “Shut up!” Shirabu shouts, stomping a foot. “I think… I think it’s trying to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Class let out early so I'm posting while my beta, fxvixen, is still asleep. I'm sorry I'm like this, Hope.
> 
> Could it be? A chapter without content warnings? (I might have just forgotten them. Feel free to kick me if I did.)
> 
> Oh man, we're so close to the end. In fact, next week I'll post both of the last two chapters: 22 on... Friday... ish, and then a sort of epilogue on... Uh... Monday. Ish. Or, actually... if Hope doesn't murder me, I might just post them with less of a gap, since actually chapters 21, 22 and 23 are all just parts of a final chapter that got really long (and the faster I post the longer you will have to go without fic, because I'm not ready to post my next fic just yet.)
> 
> Honestly, we'll see how fast I can get the Bokuto spinoff up... the mood shift had me a little off balance and I have not been writing as fast as usual (I am still not getting the tone right, I think.) This angst garbage fire has broken me. But Feathers is a standalone, so at least you won't have to wait to find out what happens.
> 
> tl;dr: there is no plan. The semester just started and I am a broken person.

Keiji forces himself to sit up. His arms are shaking and he feels not unlike like he’s just run a marathon. He’s never used his powers to the point that it became physically taxing, and the sensation is a new and unpleasant one.

From this angle, he can see Eita’s body better. His stomach roils slightly when he takes in the blank way the eyes still stare up, and the still way that Tendou sits behind it, but he’s distracted quickly by Iwaizumi’s frantic scrabbling to get to Oikawa. Keiji would follow suit, but he’s starting to think a wiser decision would be laying back down. Koutarou and Kenma both land in surprisingly similar ways on either side of him, helping him sit up properly.

“Ah,” he says, looking at both of their worried faces. “I’m fine, just worn out.”

“You want me to carry you home?” Koutarou asks, eyes round and sparkling.

“Eventually, yes,” Keiji murmurs. “But for now just help me up.”

Koutarou and Kenma each take an arm and swing him to his feet with ease. Keiji’s legs feel like jelly, but he doesn’t have much trouble staying upright. He stumbles over to where Iwaizumi has hauled Oikawa into his arms, cradling his head with a manic gentleness. “Is he…?”  he asks. Oikawa is frighteningly pale and still in Iwaizumi’s arms.

Iwaizumi looks up, tears streaming down his face. One of his shaking hands is poised over Oikawa’s throat, as though to check for a pulse. “I can’t,” he whispers. Keiji’s stomach flips. Was all this for nothing? “M-my hands are shaking too bad, I can’t…”

Tetsurou shakes out of the stupor in which he’s been standing over them and slumps down beside Iwaizumi, moving his hand aside silently to check for a pulse. “He’s alive,” he says, after a moment.

Iwaizumi lets out a strangled noise through clenched teeth and buries his face into Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa doesn’t so much as twitch.

Keiji breathes out a sigh of relief. “We should get him home,” he says, glancing at Kenma. He doesn’t think Iwaizumi is in any kind of state to carry Oikawa all the way back to the Institute. Kenma nods.

Keiji looks around while Kenma steps over to pry Oikawa from Iwaizumi’s arms, taking in the damage. “Koutarou, help me over there,” he says, pointing at Tendou.

He hobbles forward, Koutarou steadying him a little.

Keiji groans and sits down beside Tendou and waits.

“I always kinda figured I was gonna lose ‘em,” Tendou says finally. “Him and Wakatoshi.” He chews at his lip. The façade flickers for a moment, then rights itself. Keiji gets a glimpse of scars, so fast he wonders if he’d imagined it. “They were a little rough around the edges, you know, kinda… well, they were kind of a mess. Really a mess.”

He rubs at his nose with the back of his hand. “But under that was something better, and I figured if I just kept helping ‘em, they’d get to that eventually. They had some pretty good ideas, ya know?” He looks at Keiji hopefully, then collapses back in on himself. “Ah. No. You guys only ever saw the crazy shit.”

Koutarou shifts behind him, as though wondering whether or not to say something, but amazingly, a hand on his knee from Keiji gets him to stay silent.

“I figured eventually, they were gonna get it right, ya know? And not need me anymore, to do their dirty work. That’s what they deserved. To be happy.”

He sinks his head into his hands and curls up around them. “I didn’t think I was gonna lose ‘em both like this. I wasn’t supposed to…”

Keiji wants to scold him. He is tired and angry that all this even happened. He wants to say, _perhaps if you’d been honest with them, you could have guided them to something better._ An even crueler part of him would like to say, _your self-hatred destroyed your friends and did who knows how much damage to my friends. Your worry over your demonic appearance has become a self-fulfilling prophecy with a body count._

But Koutarou is warm behind him, and Keiji is too tired for more pain. He’s quite certain that Tendou has learned his lesson well enough without Keiji’s help. Most importantly, he can’t shake the feeling that all of this is still branch of the crumbling machine that had nearly nearly eaten him alive and had done its best to eat Semi alive, and Keiji wants to stand firm against it, the way Koutarou had stood firm against it without even knowing or trying when he’d first met Keiji and had refused to give up until he was safe.

He reaches forward and gives Tendou’s hand the slightest squeeze. Tendou seems startled by the softness of the gesture. “I’m sorry,” Keiji murmurs.

Koutarou leans his forehead onto Keiji’s shoulder approvingly, as though he knows how difficult it was for Keiji not to be mean about this.

A few moments too late, Eita’s words from earlier trickle back into his mind, and he opens his mouth to ask about Ushijima, but he’s interrupted again. Shirabu sits up suddenly. “Wait, be quiet,” he blurts, stumbling to his feet.

This is getting to be a frustrating pattern.

Tendou grimaces at Shirabu. “Really? You can’t leave one minute for…”

“Ssssh!” Shirabu hisses waving at him wildly. “It’s not gone.”

“ _What?_ ” Tendou asks, bounding to his feet. “What do you mean it’s not…?”

“Shut _up_!” Shirabu shouts, stomping a foot. “I think… I think it’s trying to talk.”

“Tell it to…” Iwaizumi shouts from a few meters away, but he shifts to shield Oikawa, who Kenma has in his arms. He’s cut off by Kenma’s elbow as Kenma watches intensely to see what’s happening. Keiji can see his own arms tighten around Oikawa too, though.

“What’s it saying?” Kawanishi whispers. His eyes flicker over to Oikawa, down to Semi, then back up to Shirabu with a nervous look. From a few meters away, Goshiki’s eyes go through the same thought process.

“I… I don’t know,” Shirabu says, frowning.

“What do you _mean_ …” Tendou starts to hiss, but Shirabu shuts him up with a glare.

“It’s not exactly speaking _Japanese_ ,” Shirabu says. “It’s a cosmic entity!” He narrows his eyes and looks at something Keiji can’t see. “It’s… apologizing?”

“Oh, well, alright then,” Tendou says, with a wild, bitter laugh, and Shirabu throws a stick at him.

“It’s saying it… it hadn’t meant to take over Oikawa,” he says, slowly. “But… um… something… something about how they connected? When it brought him back it got tangled up with him and… and it didn’t realize they were different things. It thought… it thought it was Oikawa and by the time it realized it wasn’t it… it was too far into things. It got overwhelmed by all the sensation the world had to offer and… and it got so greedy about it, it was even willing to take Oikawa’s place entirely.”

“Wait,” Iwaizumi says, stumbling forward. “He’s still… Tooru… he’s still in there, right? We didn’t just get back… back an empty shell or something, right?”

Shirabu frowns. “Uh,” he says, and Iwaizumi blanches at the hesitation. “It says… it tried extinguishing him so many times it doubts it took this time either? Or something like that. I think… I think the gist of it is… he’s probably still in there.”

“Probably?” Iwaizumi croaks.

“It says it doesn’t want to risk probing his mind after how absorbed it got… It doesn’t want to risk getting caught up in it again.”

That doesn’t seem to cheer Iwaizumi up, but Koutarou brightens at the prospect of _probably_ , and Keiji nearly collapses back into his arms at the sight of that.

“Anyway, it says, as an apology, it’d… it’d… oh,” he says, eyes widening. “Um. Okay. It’d bring Semi back, but…”

“But?” Tendou breathes, hanging onto Shirabu desperately. “What?”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Shirabu growls, pulling his arm away. “It’s worried about bringing him back the way it brought Tooru back, so it doesn’t want to use its own energy. It’ll need… someone else’s.”

“Mine,” Tendou says without a single pause. “It can have mine, as long as Eita…”

“That’s not necessary,” Keiji says, quickly. Tendou’s head snaps around to look at him, and Koutarou stiffens, as though he thinks Keiji is offering his own life. Keiji pats his knee comfortingly. “I happen to know someone who has quite a bit more energy than he can handle right now.”

-X-

“Is this really something we should be doing in the living room?” Tetsurou asks, his voice finally having regained a shadow of his old confidence.

“If I know anything from my own experiences, it’s that Semi-san won’t want to be anywhere near a medical area if he’s weakened in any way,” Keiji says, as Tendou slides Semi onto the couch.

“That’s generally when you should be in a medical area,” Tetsurou mutters. Koutarou elbows him in the side.

Kenma comes up behind them, looking rather comical with Ushijima, who is nearly twice his size, slung over his shoulder. “Where do I put him?” he says, glaring at Tendou. “He’s heavy as hell, by the way, so you’re welcome.”

Tendou is frozen for a moment, staring at Ushijima, his whole body screaming _thank the gods, he’s alive_. He reaches out as if to run his fingers through Ushijima’s hair, but then thinks better of it. “Here,” he says, after a moment, shaking himself and grabbing a pillow and laying it on the floor. “Next to Eita.”

Kenma sets him down less than lightly, grumbling something about broken wrists and having to carry things. Tendou is too distracted to be annoyed, hovering over Ushijima with a sort of fragile disbelief. “He’s alive,” he whispers. “Gods, he’s alive, I thought…” He shakes himself again and stumbles to his feet.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back. “It’s still there, right?”

Shirabu nods. “Yeah.”

There’s a long pause, then a small stream of light flickers between Ushijima and Semi, growing stronger for a moment, then flickering out. There’s a moment of silence, then a hearty breath from Semi that turns into a cough. “Eita!” Tendou cries, nearly tripping over Ushijima to get to him, sitting him up.

“What…” Semi wheezes, blinking his eyes open and squinting. “Where am I?”

“The Institute,” Tetsurou volunteers. “How are you feeling?”

“My head is killing me,” Semi murmurs.

Tendou leans forward as if to hug Semi, then thinks better of it. Semi eyes him with one eye, rubbing at his head. They both seem unsure of what to say, but Semi catches sight of Ushijima, who is slowly cracking his eyes open. “Wakatoshi!” he cries. “Are you…? Is he…?”

Tendou scrambles onto Ushijima’s chest, flailing when he tries to do so without getting too far from Semi either. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Ushijima murmurs, seeming confused by Tendou’s sudden appearance in his line of vision, if anything.

“Any homicidal, uncontrollable rage…?”

“No,” Ushijima says, looking around to see the rest of his crew gathered around him with varying levels of visible enthusiasm.

“You went a little crazy there, Waka,” Tendou laughs. “Glad you’re back.”

“Yeah,” Ushijima says, only a little bewildered.

-X-

The knock on his door is far too timid for anyone he knows. “Come in,” Keiji calls, though he’d much rather continue his previous plans of lying as still as he can so the soreness and dizziness fade enough for him to sleep.

Instead, the door cracks open and Semi prods his head in. “Um,” he says.

Keiji makes sure his groan stays inside his head and staggers to his feet. “Hello,” he says. Semi is a few centimeters shorter than him, but at the moment he’s hunched over with the sort of posture that makes Keiji feel like he’s terrorizing him by looming over him. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” Semi manages. “I’m all clear, according to your scary old guy. Uh. I just… well, Reon just told me that you… you were the one who suggested… well. I think… I sort of owe you my life, so… thank you. I… I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.”

Keiji stares down at him. He’s only slightly right, but Keiji isn’t one to refuse an opportunity when he sees one. “Well, it won’t be easy,” he says, turning around to grab a pen and paper from his desk. He scribbles onto it quickly.

“I know that,” Semi whispers, hugging himself tightly. “But I swear, whatever you…”

Keiji presses the paper into his hands.

Semi blinks down at it. “What’s this?” he asks, sounding vaguely suspicious and a little terrified.

“It’s Sugawara’s number. He’s an excellent psychologist. If nothing else, he’ll know who to refer you to.”

Semi blinks at him, like he’s suddenly switched to a different language.

Keiji sighs. “I want you to try everything in your power to get better,” he says. “I know it won’t be easy, but if you mean that you want to pay me back…” He points at the paper. “This is how you do it.”

Semi gapes at him.

“Is that too much to ask?” Keiji asks, crossing his arms.

To his surprise, Semi steps forward and wraps his arms around Keiji. Keiji freezes for a moment, then smiles and wraps his arms around Semi in return. “I hated you so much,” Semi croaks. “I hated you for getting away when I didn’t get to and… it was so… I’m so…”

“It’s alright,” Keiji murmurs.

“No,” Semi says, sniffling into Keiji’s shirt. “I did… I’ve been terrible.”

Keiji sighs. “Listen,” he says, rubbing at Semi’s back. “All people can do bad things.” Semi looks up at him, arms trembling around Keiji’s sides. “But mostly, I think they don’t want to do bad things, and if you can keep them safe and be kind to them, then they won’t. So I’m going to keep you safe and be kind to you, and then you won’t… do bad things. Right?”

“That’s really optimistic,” Semi says, a tinge suspiciously.

Keiji barks a laugh. “That is, in fact, what I said. But it worked for a very special someone of mine, so I might as well try it myself,” he says. “But really, please try to get better.”

“Alright,” Semi says, slipping away from him and trying to collect himself. “I… I don’t know how well it’ll work, but I’ll try, I promise.”

“Good,” Keiji says. “Where are the rest of your friends?”

Semi grimaces. “I don’t know if they’re my…” He closes his eyes and sighs, as if adjusting something in his thoughts. “They’re downstairs. Tsutomu is asleep, I think the rest of them are getting there. Wakatoshi is trying to spy on Oikawa and Iwaizumi without causing trouble and I think Satori… is trying to comfort him.”

Keiji sighs. Yes. That’s one thing he’d forgotten to take care of, and unfortunately he doubts anyone will be able to do it for him. “Come on,” he says, grimacing as he hauls himself out of the room and down the stairs. His entire body feels stiff.

They’re down in the infirmary. Ushijima seems to have found the one place where he can peer into the room without being seen. Tendou is silent beside him. Keiji just taps his shoulder and nods at the outer hallway. Tendou frowns, but he leaves Semi to stand with Ushijima and follows Keiji outside.

The moment they’re outside, he pushes Tendou against the wall and leans over him. The height difference is impractical, but at least Keiji has the element of surprise. “I say this to you because I have no doubt that you’ve mastered the art of using fear as a tool,” he says, as Tendou blinks at him, startled.

Keiji doesn’t let his glare waiver. “However, it was me, not you, who managed to bring the Phoenix to its knees. I’m willing to give all of you another chance, but if you, Ushijima, or any one of your crew causes a problem for anyone under this roof again, I _can_ and I will _destroy you._ ” He breathes out a sigh. “Do I make myself clear?”

Tendou stares at him, jaw open. “Yep!” he squeaks.

“Thank you,” Keiji murmurs. “I’ll talk to Ushijima, if you like. He might be more inclined to accept forgiveness from a friend of Oikawa-san’s.”

Tendou grins at him in a vaguely challenging manner. “You _are_ interesting, Akaashi Keiji,” he says. “And here I thought you were the goody-two-shoes type.”

“No,” Keiji says. “Just bold enough to try being kind.” He thinks for a moment, then adds, “Ish. Kindish.  Maybe you should try it too.”

Tendou snorts. “Not bad,” he says. “Maybe… maybe I will.” He grins, in a way that makes him seem much more alive, much more present. “Ish.”

They turn the corner back into the inner hallway just in time to see Iwaizumi punch Ushijima in the face. It barely moves Ushijima, but Iwaizumi’s hand snaps back. He does a surprisingly good job not showing that he probably just broke a few of his fingers. “Don’t ever come near Tooru again,” he hisses, holding his hand gingerly. Somehow, it doesn’t detract from the burning rage in his eyes. “You hear me? I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I understand,” Ushijima says, quietly.

Iwaizumi turns on his heel and returns to the room, slamming the door behind him. Ushijima stays rigid where he stands. “For what it’s worth,” Keiji says. “I know you meant well.”

Ushijima smiles ever so slightly at him. “I appreciate the sentiment, truly,” he says. “But the fact itself is worth nothing. The good intentions I may have had will not undo the harm I have caused.”

Keiji doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for Eita,” Ushijima continues, glancing down at Semi, who avoids his look. “I do not know where we will go from here, but should you ever need anything of me or any of my people, I would be happy to oblige.”

“Oh,” Keiji says. It’s not every day a mob lord tells you he owes you a favor, and Keiji isn’t sure if he’s terrified or overjoyed to hear it. He wants to stand firm, like he did with Semi, but Ushijima, even in his broken state, is very tall and very intimidating. “I just… made a few suggestions.”

“Had you not suggested this plan,” Ushijima says. “I have no doubt Tendou would have taken Eita’s place.”

Semi’s head snaps up and he stares at Tendou, who blanches and shifts behind Keiji.

“That would have been a disaster,” Ushijima says, and Semi bites his lip, looking away with a distraught expression.

Keiji wonders if maybe he should ask Semi what’s going on with that, but he wants to sleep desperately.

“Well,” he says. “You’re welcome. Please try not to make a mess of things again.”

Ushijima nods evenly. “You seem tired. Don’t let me keep you,” he says. “We will be leaving soon.”

Keiji nods and drags himself back upstairs. This time, when his head hits the pillow, he falls asleep right away, and doesn’t wake until Koutarou slides into bed behind him.

Keiji sighs and rolls around to rest his head on Koutarou’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Koutarou whispers. His whispers are always a little louder than Koutarou thinks they are, and a little deeper than his normal voice, and Keiji loves them. “Sorry I took so long. I figured Iwaizumi needed comforting more than you.”

“I agree,” Keiji says. “I’m quite alright. Just exhausted.” He feels a bit better after sleeping, but now he’s even more stiff.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

Keiji yawns and waves his hand dismissively. “How is Iwaizumi-san?”

“Not great,” Koutarou murmurs.

“And Oikawa-san?”

“Even… not greater,” Koutarou says. “The Professor is trying to get a read on him, you know, telepathically, but he says… well, that whatever’s left is so weak it’s hard to make out.”

Keiji is quiet, tracing the lines of Koutarou’s face with his eyes. “That’s not a good sign.”

“Not really,” Koutarou says. He doesn’t look put out. “But I’m sure he’ll be ok! If anyone could bounce back from this it’s him!”

Keiji manages a quivering smile. “Thank you,” he says. “I was thinking there’s no way anyone could come back from this, and I… I needed to hear that.”

“No problem,” Koutarou says, kissing his forehead. “I’ve got your back, Downer-san.”

“Hush,” Keiji murmurs snuggling closer. “Let me sleep.”

“Alright, alright,” Koutarou laughs. “You asked.”

“Ssssh.”

-X-

Going back to the island is like returning to the wreckage of a horrific car crash.

Tsutomu is the only one who isn’t drastically affected by the mood change. Eita catches Shirabu and Kawanishi discussing things in the livingroom. He wonders, again, if they’ll splinter off soon. He feels guilty a moment after, but it’s not as though any of them knows where things are headed after this, not with Ushijima spending his days painstakingly salvaging any plants he damaged and painting his newly rebuilt walls with the look of someone who’s just lost a child.

Satori is nowhere to be found, though Reon mentions him occasionally as he goes about managing things just as he’s always done, so he must be on the island, probably avoiding Eita.

Which makes sense, given that Eita had told him never to speak to him again, and then had told him they couldn’t continue what they were doing, and _then_ had apologized to Satori and Satori alone about dying. Briefly. Eita’s pretty sure that might be giving off mixed signals, so Satori is probably right in thinking that avoiding Eita is the safest route.

Of course, he didn’t think Satori was the kind to play things safe, but what does he know anymore?

He’d been so angry about it all, not so long ago, but quite frankly, at this point, he just wants to know what is going on. He misses Satori, in an odd, angry way.

When he finally overhears Satori’s voice coming from Wakatoshi’s room, though, he’s just relieved. He manages to position himself so he can see them and they can’t see him. Wakatoshi is cooped up on the floor, nursing one of the plants he’d smashed earlier. He’d tried transplanting it to a new pot, of course, but it’s a lost cause. Satori is sitting cross-legged on the desk.

It probably means more to Wakatoshi than just one less plant.

“We all made mistakes, Waka,” Satori says, surprisingly soft. “We’re all gonna have to fix ‘em.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t respond, folding down the leaves of his dead plant like he’s tucking it into bed.

“Are you still upset about Oikawa?”

That gets a quiet murmur out of Wakatoshi.

Satori hums, holding tight onto his ankles. “Are you jealous? Of Iwaizumi?”

“Iwaizumi is better for him,” Wakatoshi murmurs.

“Is that what you’re jealous of?”

“I’m not jealous,” Wakatoshi says, seemingly frustrated that Satori is guessing his feelings wrong.

Satori waves a hand and makes a noise like he misspoke. “Not of the fact that Oikawa is with him. About the fact that Oikawa is with him because of how Iwaizumi feels about him.”

Wakatoshi is silent at that.

“Ah, maybe jealous isn’t the right word,” Satori says, then chews at his lips. “You feel inadequate, right? Like everything went wrong because you don’t understand the things that Iwaizumi feels, right?”

“Oikawa said something like that,” Wakatoshi says, with a dogged sort of loyalty, like giving credence to the things Oikawa said is something he owes Oikawa after the things that happened to him because of Wakatoshi. Because of all of them. “That he hoped I would find someone who would help me understand why he did not want me to succeed.”

Satori hums. “Someone you love?”

Wakatoshi frowns.

“Oh, or maybe he meant someone who loves you?”

“Someone who makes me understand love,” Wakatoshi murmurs. “I do not understand.” He looks up with a sigh. “I assumed that my father loved me, but I think he merely valued my strength. I assumed I did what I did because I loved him and what he believed in… but I believe… perhaps I did it for my pride after all.”

“I think you did it for both,” Satori offers.

“I thought that I loved Oikawa, but I merely assumed that he belonged by my side because of his power,” Wakatoshi murmurs. “Had I not misunderstood… he would still be whole.”

“But you’re sad about that because you cared for him, right? And you still do, even though you know you’re not in love with him,” Satori says. “It’s easy to get blinded by things like a legacy or power, ya know? But that doesn’t mean you don’t get love. You care for Oikawa, and you care for us, and you care for your plants… and you loved your dad way more than he deserved.”

“But what I saw in Iwaizumi when he looked at Oikawa…” Wakatoshi whispers.

“That’s just one kind of love,” Satori says, flapping his hand in a way that would be silly if the conversation wasn’t so serious. “It’s like… it’s like how a parent’s love is really important, right? But not everyone wants kids, right? And that’s alright, and not getting romantic love is alright too.”

Wakatoshi’s strong fingers are so gentle over the dried leaves of his plant it’s almost as though it was his child. He nods. “I suppose so.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Waka-chan,” Satori says. “You just got a little lost, ya know?”

“I’ll prove it to you,” Satori says, bounding off of the desk and squatting down in front of Wakatoshi, arms spread wide. Wakatoshi pauses for a moment, frowning. Satori gestures for him to come closer, so Wakatoshi leans forward, letting Satori wrap his arms around Wakatoshi’s shoulders.

It takes a moment, but then Wakatoshi’s arms come up around Satori’s back. It looks like an excellent, warm hug, and Eita wonders for a moment if he wants to interrupt the moment by asking to join, but he stays quiet and lets them have it.

Satori pulls away with a smile. “See, a hug feels pretty loving, right?”

Wakatoshi nods.

“See? You get it.” He pats Wakatoshi’s head. “You’re a good person and you’re gonna set things right, Waka,” he says softly. “I believe in you.”

Wakatoshi is quiet. “Thank you, Tendou,” he murmurs.

“I’ll leave you to your leaf mourning,” Satori says, and backs out of the room, almost stepping on Eita’s toes as he shuts the door.

He blanches when he notices Eita there.

“You’re full of shit,” Eita grumbles, which is not exactly conveying the emotions he’s dealing with right now, but at least he’s talking to Satori again. “What about people who don’t like hugs? Are they not capable of feeling love?”

Satori gapes at him, for once the one who’s speechless between them.

Eita sighs. This is not the conversation he wanted to have. “I’ve been looking for you, you know,” he mutters, looking away. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I mean… you said…” Satori says. He looks nervous, stooped and picking at his fingers. It’s a look that doesn’t fit him at all.

“That façade doesn’t do much to hide your emotions, does it?”

“Oh,” Satori breathes. “Not really. I only cover up the scars, but it’s way too distracting to change my expression all the time.”

“You’ve got quite the poker face, then,” Eita says, then pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Though I suppose I was easy to fool. I didn’t want you to be a good person, or a good friend.”

“I know,” Satori breathes.

“That wasn’t good for either of us,” Eita says, looking Satori in the eyes. He’s not sure he’s ever _done_ that, because Satori’s eyes are quite expressive, to be honest. “You understand that, right? That was me, not wanting to get better, and you… you…” _Selling yourself short_ , Eita wants to say, but he’s not sure if the way it’d come out would be what he means or just Eita selling _himself_ short in turn.

Satori nods. “I know.”

“Everything between us was built on false pretenses. I don’t know anything about you. At all,” Eita says. “And I didn’t understand what it was I wanted from you in the first place.”

“You wanted to be mad,” Satori whispers. “Mad enough to get even. Mad enough to feel alive again.”

Eita lets out a long breath, closing his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “I didn’t think there was much more left for me other than revenge. But I was wrong.”

“I’m really glad,” Satori whispers. “I hope you can get better. Be happy. You really deserve it, ya know?”

Eita is _not_ going to cry. “I know you wanted to help,” he says.

“I did,” Satori says, so painfully earnest. _This_ is why Eita was so frightened to think that Satori cared all along. _This_ is the wreckage that Eita has left behind. “I really did. But if you know now you can do better, then you don’t need me for that stuff anymore.”

“What we had can’t go on,” Eita says quietly. He can barely breath and he worries he’ll panic before he can get out everything he needs to. “It wasn’t good.”

“I know I know,” Satori says. “It’s fine, really.”

“So let’s start from square one,” Eita blurts, before he can think better of it and run.

Satori freezes, cocking his head with a tiny little _hah?_ that’s almost cute. Eita steels himself and crosses his arms. “Well,” he grunts. “C-Clearly I know nothing about the real you, so we might as well.”

Satori doesn’t so much as twitch. He certainly is an odd looking person, but right now he doesn’t look very much like a monster at all.

“Start again!” Eita says, hopping from one foot to another angrily. “From square one, like we’ve just met, and we can… can try to make something good here this time. Right? If you want?”

Satori blinks. “With _me?_ ”

“Well yeah,” Eita mutters. He wants to say, _obviously I’m in love with you_ , but at the moment it would be a lie. Maybe, _I hope I can be in love with you later._ He stops. No. Square one. Patience. It doesn’t have to be about sex or love or all the things that stir up the mess in Eita’s brain.

He takes a deep breath and continues, from the point where he last felt comfortable. “I want to know more about the guy who picks up _Ushijima Wakatoshi_ when he’s down and… and the guy who would let someone he cared about hate him just so they’d feel alive again. I want to know _that_ you and… and honestly…” He pauses, looking Satori in the eyes in a sudden bought of confidence. “I could use a friend, for once.”

“Eita,” Satori wheezes.

“Semi-san,” Eita corrects with a huff, looking away again.

“What?” Satori cries. “Why?”

“We’ve only just met, we’re not on a first name basis!”

“But…!”

“No buts!” Eita yells, waving his arms desperately. “I’m making the rules, and this time I’m going to make them so I feel comfortable!”

“But what about how _I_ feel comfortable?”

“Well…” Eita says. There’s a point to be made there. Satori has to get better too, if this is going to go anywhere good. “Fine! You can drop the –san. But we’re not on a first name basis!”

“Fine,” Satori says sulkily, eyes narrowing. The look fits his face better than the kicked look it’s had lately. “Are we good enough friends for me to talk to you about Shounen Jump or do I have to ask you your favorite color first or something?”

“No, you have to tell me _your_ favorite color, you idiot, _you’re_ the one who constructed a fake personality to hide behind!” Semi snaps, though he’s almost starting to feel comfortable at this point. It’s a foreign and terrifying feeling.

That gets Satori to deflate, long arms drooping around him comically. “It’s green,” he says sheepishly. “Like the yellowish kind of green.”

“That’s a disgusting color,” Eita says, crossing his arms again. “But I guess you can talk to me about your stupid manga now.”

Satori smiles in a crooked, wily way, and Eita, for the first time in about as long as he can remember, honestly smiles back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Will I ever allow Oikawa back into his own story? I mean... probably.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime clenches his teeth and rubs away his tears. “What can I do to help him?” he says, desperately.
> 
> “It won’t be easy,” the Professor warns.
> 
> “I know,” Hajime grits out. “I know. What can I do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go. Oikawa... finally makes an appearance. In his own story. A round of applause, everyone.
> 
> Also, Bokuto's story, Feathers, is finally underway, so I am posting these two chapters over the next few days so I can finally let go of this story and write something a little more lighthearted. (Bokuto will save us all, don't worry.)
> 
> At the moment I'm thinking I will be posting the next chapter Monday/Tuesday-ish, then a small Shiratorizawa oneshot at some point to hold you over, and then in the next 2-3 weeks I'll start posting Feathers with the usual weekly schedule.

After a day and a half of grueling waiting, the Professor finally straightens up and sighs. Hajime sits up, frantic. “Well,” he says. His bony, rough hand is surprisingly gentle as it rests in Tooru’s hair.

Tooru’s eyes haven’t so much as fluttered in the past day and a half, but the Professor thumbs at the top of Tooru’s head and looks at Hajime calmly.“I don’t know how he managed to hang on, but he did it.”

“Is he going to be alright?” Hajime asks.

The Professor sighs. “It’s difficult to describe these things precisely. A mind is a complicated thing. His is… well. It’s been forcibly severed from his body multiple times, and engaged in telepathic warfare with something far more powerful than him.”

He turns, carefully, with his chair, and looks at Hajime. “He’s weak. Very weak. The fact that he hasn’t been in control of his body for months alone would have had quite a strong effect on him, but in addition to that his mind has been subjected to massive amounts of strain.”

Hajime tries to keep looking at him through his tears. “So…?”

“So, he may never be the same as he was,” the Professor says, as soft as he can manage. “Or even whole, at all. It will take him massive amounts of effort just to remember how to use his own body. Years, maybe, before he can walk. As for anything more complicated… I honestly can’t say.”

Hajime clenches his teeth and rubs away his tears. “What can I do to help him?” he says, desperately.

“It won’t be easy,” the Professor warns.

“I know,” Hajime grits out. “I know. What can I do?”

“Not much. This is an internal battle. You can be here for him, support him as he heals.” The Professor sighs. “It may be months before he wakes, but perhaps it would be best if he was in a familiar place. With his telepathy, it’s possible that he might become aware of where he is and who is around him before waking. We can set up everything he needs in your apartment.”

Hajime feels numb. He wonders, still, whether Tooru was ever the one who chose that apartment, and the fact that he can’t know eats at him. But he nods anyway.

McCoy and Kuroo come over to help set up all the medical equipment, and Hajime helps them tuck Tooru in afterwards.

Tooru is pale and still and it feels like agony to see him like this.

 _Months_ , Hajime thinks. It may be months before he sees Tooru’s eyes again, and gods know what will greet him when he does. Hajime settles into the chair beside their bed, now surrounded by medical equipment, and tries to come to terms with having to wait months for the next feeble step towards who knows what.

It doesn’t take nearly that long.

Hajime isn’t sure why he wakes, when it does. Maybe, in some way, he senses it. But after only days of waiting, he startles awake to find Tooru staring at him. His face is blank, in a way that sends chills up Hajime’s spine, but when Hajime leans forward, his eyes track his every move, only a tinge hazy.

“Tooru,” he croaks. It hits him, suddenly, the thought that every time he looked into those eyes for the past several months, what was looking back at him wasn’t even entire Tooru. Somehow, now, he can feel the difference. This is Tooru, or as much of him as is left, and without even knowing it, Hajime has missed him _so fucking much._ “Sweetheart. Baby.” He reaches forward to put his hand on Tooru’s cheek. “Gods, you’re awake.”

Tooru doesn’t react, but his eyes still follow Hajime’s movement carefully.

Hajime rubs at his nose desperately. He can feel the tears already flowing freely, but Tooru just watches him. Hajime isn’t sure he was entirely aware of how consciously and constantly Tooru used his face, but he misses it now. “You need anything, are you ok?” he whispers, even though he knows Tooru won’t be able to respond.

But Tooru manages a small shake of the head. Hajime’s breath stills in his throat. It hadn’t been fast, or very strong, but he’s only just woken up after four days, and he’s already moving. That has to be good for something, right? The tears build up, stronger now, and he collapses onto Tooru’s chest. Tooru lies motionless, watching Hajime cry himself back to sleep.

The next days are the same. Hajime takes to reading Tooru’s favorite books out loud to him. He’s not sure how much it helps Tooru, but he has to feel like he’s doing something. Tooru listens, and slowly starts flexing his fingers, like he’s surprised by the fact that he can. After several days of this, Tooru slides one hand onto Hajime’s knee.

Hajime sits beside him and struggles to read through his sobs. Tooru’s fingers move to squeeze his knee, but his grip shakes with the attempt, even though it remains feather light.

Something about the fact that he manages to touch Hajime kindles something in Tooru, though, because after that he speeds up even more. He grabs onto Hajime whenever he can, feels his face, his stomach, tugs at him frantically with the strength of a newborn until Hajime holds him close and tight.

He either won’t or can’t speak, but he sits up after only a few more days. His arms are shaking with disuse, and Hajime can almost see the unfamiliarity that must come from being so intensely disconnected from your own body for so long, as well as the weakness that must from having that control shredded repeatedly.  

But Tooru persists, and soon McCoy comes over to free him of the medical equipment. Tooru seems to be more comfortable with the idea of Hajime helping him eat and go to the bathroom than just lying in bed without pause, though it’s hard to tell with that horrible blank look on his face.

Having to guess what Tooru wants and needs when Tooru can’t seem to communicate how he used to and Hajime has no idea who Tooru is anymore is terrifying. Knowing that he failed to notice the difference between his boyfriend and an alien imposter doesn’t help.

But while Hajime stays nervous, Tooru continues to improve so quickly that the Professor comes over, after a while to make sure this isn’t something like the Phoenix situation all over again. He chuckles when he does. “I suppose I spoke too soon. I’m always underestimating him,” he says, after only a moment of looking Tooru up and down.

Tooru lets him smooth his hair aside, touching his palm to Tooru’s forehead, then his cheek. “Gods know what he’s capable of. I think… maybe he’ll be alright eventually after all. Just make sure he’s resting enough.” Those words, at least, are familiar, and they leave Hajime feeling a little more hopeful when the Professor leaves than before.

Two days later, when Hajime comes back to the room after doing the dishes, he finds Tooru standing, or rather teetering precariously, supporting himself between the nightstand and the bed.

“Tooru, gods, what are you doing?” Hajime gasps. “You shouldn’t be straining yourself like…”

Tooru’s head snaps around and he’s clearly unable to bring his face into any kind of expression, but his eyes… his _eyes_ are alight with something so viscerally _Tooru_. Hajime goes quiet, shuffling up beside Tooru and helping him stand. He lets Tooru step on his feet, and guides his legs into moving, until they’ve managed to walk the length of the bed and Tooru is shaking with the effort.

But it’s only been a week and a half, Hajime reminds himself. And within two weeks of waking up, he’s walking by himself, only using Hajime as support. He looks like a newborn deer, knees knocking together, but it doesn’t stop him. He clings to Hajime, shuffling around the apartment all day, until Hajime forces him back to bed after he starts quivering with exhaustion.

It’s still so strange to see Tooru this quiet, but this is… this is almost normal. Things are odd, for sure, but Hajime is growing more certain that the only thing to do is to wait it out and help Tooru learn how to get back to operating his own body. Tooru, of course, doesn’t hesitate. He keeps up with his attempts, until he can make it to the bathroom alone.

He takes a day off the first time he gets to the bathroom alone, and then continues.

Akaashi and Kenma visit often. Akaashi tries to draw Tooru into quiet conversations, but Tooru doesn’t seem interested. Kenma just lets him lay beside him and watch him play games.

Sometimes Akaashi brings Bokuto, and that always makes things a little brighter, because Bokuto just keeps showing Tooru his art and random things from the internet, laughing like nothing is wrong. And sometimes, when Hajime watches Tooru interact with Bokuto, he thinks Tooru might be teetering on the edge of a smile.

Kuroo comes exactly once. He talks quietly to Tooru, who seems to be listening intently, head cocked, but he doesn’t look at Kuroo. Hajime leaves them to it, and when Kuroo comes into the kitchen to cry, Hajime silently hands him a mug of tea and lets him collect himself before leaving. Neither Kuroo nor Kenma ever explain, but in return, Kenma stays extra long sometimes, when he sees Hajime is struggling the most.

Hajime has never really had a lot of conversations with Kenma, but he’s not surprised to find that Kenma is not any more talkative up close. It’s comforting, though, to have him around. He sits beside Hajime and waits for him to speak.

“Do you think he even wants to live with me?” Hajime whispers, at some point. “Or was it the Phoenix that moved in with me after all?”

“He wants to be here,” Kenma says.

“I can’t tell,” Hajime says. He feels empty. “I can’t tell, he’s not… he’s… not who he used to be and I’m scared I won’t notice the differences when I need to.”

“You’ll learn to adjust to him. In time. Just keep at it.” There’s not a single question in Kenma’s voice, but this is the first time Hajime can see Kenma verging on tears too.

After they leave, Tooru always curls up and sets his forehead on his knees.

“Your bed is still open in the Institute. You want to move back in with them?” Hajime asks.

Tooru shakes his head. Hajime still asks the next time.

Hajime’s mother drives up from Miyagi with Mayumi every weekend. They take over while they’re there, doing the cooking and cleaning that Hajime is too exhausted to do sometimes. “We’ll pay your rent until things stabilize, of course,” Mayumi says.

“I can’t ask that of you,” Hajime croaks. “I think we’re ok for a few months and then I’ll try to get back to work. Or maybe we’ll move back in like we were last year.”

“Absolutely not,” his mother snaps, looking up from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with Tooru, whispering something. “Call it a mother’s intuition, but I don’t think it would do much good for Tooru, would it?”

Tooru shakes his head. Hajime blinks. It’s the first time Tooru’s taken a real stance on the apartment.

“We’ll help out. My husband makes a lot and I’m running a business from home. We’ve got the money,” Mayumi insists. “And it’s about time Tooru gets a little support from his family.”

Hajime sighs and chews at his lip. “Alright,” he murmurs

“And we’ll come over to spoil this boy silly, won’t we,” his mother laughs, taking Tooru’s face in her hands and shaking it gently. “Oh!” she says. “Was that almost a smile?”

Tooru shakes his head vehemently.

“He doesn’t really smile any more,” Hajime sighs.

“Well, he never was a smiler,” Mayumi says. “You had to pry them out of him with bribes all the time.”

Hajime stares at her. “He was _always_ smiling. Ever since we were kids.”

Mayumi laughs. “With you, maybe. But us mortals had to work for it.”

“Oh, yes,” his mother says. “I remember. He was always quiet or crying, but around Hajime he always lit up.” She smiles sadly. “He only started smiling often after that debacle with your parents,” she tells Mayumi.

Mayumi shakes her head. “Poor Tooru,” she coos again, hugging him tight. “You’ve been through so much.”

Hajime blinks. He doesn’t remember a single time that Tooru wasn’t all smiles. Though, maybe his mother is right. He’d started the fake smiles only after the isolation room. He shakes it from his mind and goes to the kitchen to put together a plate for Tooru. His mother and Mayumi stay for the weekend, then leave them both with enough kisses and food to last for weeks.

Hajime sleeps fitfully for the next few weeks, waking up in the middle of the night to roll over and look at Tooru. He keeps thinking, for some reason, that he’s heard Tooru’s voice, but Tooru stays still beside him each time, eyes closed. Maybe it’s Tooru’s shifting that wakes him up. They start each evening curled up together, Tooru holding him as tightly as he can, but sometime in the night, he kicks off the covers and rolls away, even when it’s so cold he’s shivering.

After a few weeks, Hajime switches out the blankets for sheets, and he wakes to Tooru, still draped around him, twitching. He would have never noticed it if he wasn’t still holding Tooru, it’s so feeble, and even more so are the tiny sounds coming out of his throat, little, broken whimpers.

Hajime pulls himself up, dragging Tooru with him so they’re both sitting. Tooru shudders awake with the motion, but he doesn’t move. Hajime strokes his hair and waits, but eventually, Tooru just shoves him down and clambers in beside him, resting his head in the crook of Hajime’s neck and throwing an arm over his chest and a leg over Hajime’s knee, but Hajime isn’t going to forget those horrible little sounds any time soon. “Oh, Tooru,” Hajime whispers, running his fingers through his hair. “How do I help? How can I fix this?”

Tooru swallows hard. “Just… stay,” he rasps, voice rusty with disuse. It doesn’t even sound like him, but he’s _talking, he’s talking_.

“Oh,” Hajime says, and his voice breaks at about the same moment he does. He throws his arms around Tooru and weeps, shaking with it as he clutches Tooru tightly. Tooru’s hand is tight in his shirt. “Baby,” he whispers into Tooru’s hair, uncombed but still soft. “My darling Tooru, I missed you too, I missed you so much…” He can’t stop babbling, is so tired of the silence.

Tooru just wraps his arms around Hajime’s shoulders tightly, and after a while Hajime can hear him fall back into a fitful sleep again, his arms still like a vice around Hajime. Hajime doesn’t let up either, not until he falls back asleep as well, one hand clutching Tooru’s head to his heart.

In the morning, Tooru eyes him warily over a cup of tea. After a moment, he stares down at the tea instead. He clears his throat a little. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Hajime sits across from him. Tooru swallows repeatedly, and Hajime doubts he’s finished just yet.

“At first… I didn’t… The difference… I didn’t notice… either,” Tooru says, haltingly. He’s leaving out words and the ones he gets out are shuddering, halting, but Hajime understands. “And then… I couldn’t… my body,” He trails off, like it’s too hard. He looks at Hajime. “I couldn’t,” he manages, looking frustrated that he can’t say more.

“It’s alright,” Hajime says, before the frustration can turn into something even angrier. “The Professor said you’d need time to get back into things.”

“Sorry.”

Hajime reaches across the table and takes Tooru’s hand. “It’s alright, ok?” Hajime says, and he may be crying again. “Take your time, with the… the talking or the feeling better or… or whatever else. No one expects you to go back to normal right away.” Tooru looks up at him, slightly more sad than blank for once. It’s a start. Hajime can tell that he expects himself to go back to normal right away. “I’m here, no matter what.”

Tooru nods, but he’s still buzzing with frustration, and Hajime can guess what it is he wants to impart. Hajime’s been a coward not to ask it for him already. “You wanted to move in with me, right?” he whispers. “That was you?”

Tooru melts with relief and nods. Hajime melts right back against him, and they sit like that until they transition to the couch, Tooru curling up next Hajime on the couch as Hajime reads him his books in the afternoon. Hajime holds him close, and things seem a little brighter finally.

-X-

Tooru’s relief at being able to lift a chunk of Hajime’s guilt from his heart is palpable. He’s constantly moving and even more eager with the nonverbal communication. He’s touching Hajime constantly, fingers tugging at Hajime’s sleeve to get his hand onto Tooru’s head, wrapping himself around Hajime when he’s cooking, sleeping while lying right on top of Hajime at night.

Talking is still too hard for Tooru most of the time, but it feels less weird like this, Tooru’s strange silence and hesitance, now that he’s constantly communicating through touches, trying to make faces. In fact, some days it doesn’t feel weird at all, because Tooru has a thousand shades and faces, what’s one more? Now that Hajime is sure Tooru really wants to be here, they settle into a comfortable rhythm.

Hajime makes sure Tooru eats and sleeps. Tooru watches him go about his day carefully and tries his best to take up the slack a little by keeping things clean, but Hajime can tell he gets exhausted quickly, so he often takes over about halfway through. Tooru lets him, though afterwards Hajime always finds him wrapped in blankets and sullen, and they have to sit under the covers, huddled together until Tooru feels like coming out, Tooru shakily planting kisses on his nose as something of an apology.

He speaks about once a week. Hajime hasn’t seen him smile in several months. He regularly wakes to find him awake and staring at Hajime or the ceiling in the middle of the night, as though he hadn’t been sleeping at all, but he’s _here_ and he’s Tooru and that makes everything feel right, even if it’s not what it used to be. He loves Tooru every way he’s ever seen him, even the petty and jealous sides of him, so why should this be any different?

After months of near silence, Hajime almost forgets that Tooru used to be a loud person, and as a result Tooru’s first real outburst comes as a shock.

There’s a roar and a crash, and Hajime drops his cup of coffee as he runs to the bathroom to see what’s happening. Tooru’s sitting under the sink, his bleeding hand clenched over his head as he curls into his knees, his other arm wrapped around his waist. The mirror is shattered.

“Gods, Tooru, what… what happened?” Hajime manages, though it’s clear enough what happened, just not _why_.

“I can’t do it,” Tooru whispers, without raising his head. His voice is almost lost to Hajime’s heartbeat. “I can’t.”

“Can’t do what?” Hajime asks, crouching in front of Tooru, careful to avoid the glass on the floor.

“Fake it,” Tooru croaks.

“Fake what?” His voice is desperate and cracking, and he just wants Tooru to look at him and tell him what’s going on in his head. The silence has been ok, while Tooru was tugging on him and huddling up when he’s upset but now it’s clear there’s something going on in him that’s loud and ragged and silence won’t cut it.

“Everything.” Tooru’s eyes are ringed as he looks up at Hajime. He looks like crying looks on TV, flawless, with a single tear running down his cheek, which means something is wrong. This isn’t the floundering, grasping crying that Tooru does, this is something chilled to the core. “Fake smiles. Fake confidence. Fake, fake, fake. It’s all fake, that’s who I _am_ , fake, but now everytime I try to fake _anything_ I feel like it’s that thing… using my face and my body, while I’m inside and I can’t stop it.”

This is the most Tooru’s said in weeks, and though he seems to be struggling to get it out, the words are clear and his voice is determined. Hajime wonders if he’s been practicing talking in secret.  

“Tooru…” Hajime tries, but Tooru cuts him off with a brutal shake of his head and a hollow chuckle.

“I wanted so bad, to be in control again, to be _me_ again and now nothing’s stopping me, but I can’t… I _can’t do it_.”

Hajime sighs, sliding down to sit across from Tooru, against the wall, their legs pressed together awkwardly. They’re both a little too tall for this, even with Tooru curled up like he is. “That’s not what makes you _you_ ,” he mutters.

Tooru laughs. It sounds more like his heart is twisting straight out of his chest. “Of course not.”

“So you faked being in love with me?” Hajime asks.

Tooru blinks. “That’s not…” he says, letting his head thud against the cabinets.

“And you faked welcoming all the new mutants at the Institute? Helping Akaashi fit in there?”

“No, I…” Tooru tries, but Hajime is angry now.

“You faked being obsessed with space all your life?”

“Hajime,” Tooru says, cross now.

“You faked wanting to be the best at volleyball? At physics? At everything you’ve ever put your mind to? You faked pushing yourself way past your natural talent no matter what it did to you?”

“No!” Tooru snaps. “No, I didn’t fake those things, but…”

“All I see,” Hajime says, raising his own voice, “is you, pushing yourself way past what anyone was expecting of you and still expecting more from yourself!”

Tooru just stares at him. Hajime realizes it’s been awhile since he yelled at him. High school, maybe? Middle school? He tries to get himself to lower his voice.

“No one expected you to even be on your feet this soon. We were thinking _years_ , and it’s been _weeks_ , and you’re walking and talking and everything,” he says. “And now you’re crying in the bathroom because you’re not back to normal, and you think that’s not who you _are?_ That if you can’t fake a smile doing it, you’re not even yourself anymore?” He huffs, looking at his feet. “The fake shit was you, ok? It was your signature move, but hell, you were already growing out of it, because that’s not what makes you _you_.”

Tooru sniffles, his bad hand at the back of his head, smearing blood onto his hair and the sink. “I’m so tired,” he croaks. “I’m so tired. I feel like I spent those months strapped to a comet or something and I just want to go back to everything being ok. I want to live with you and be happy and forget all this.”

“I know. I do too. But that’s going to take a while, and until then, we’ve just got to focus on the fact that you’re here, safe, and we’re together.”

Tooru sobs, head lolling. “I’m so sorry. You’ve been dealing with my shit for so long and I just keep piling it on and…” He chokes, bringing his hands to cover his face, shaking with his sobs. “… I broke the mirror and I’m… I’m not ok and you’ve got to pick up the pieces, and…”

Hajime sighs, wary of glass as he moves to sit beside Tooru, drawing him closer. “I don’t mind taking care of you. This has been… a really rough year, I know, but it’s ok. We’re ok, even if you’re not. I don’t care how many times I have to pick you back up, you make my life so special and bright and I’m happy whenever you’re here, even if it’s work, you know?”

He takes Tooru’s hand gently, checking the cuts. “It’s not so bad. Come on, let’s pick this mirror up together. Pick up the big pieces and I’ll wipe up after you. Then we’ll bandage this hand and I’ll make you soup.”

“Ok,” Tooru says, voice wet with sniffles. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Hajime assures him. “It’s alright, no harm done. I’m glad you’re letting it out.”

Gods, this feels so much better. The ups and downs, the give and take they’ve always been so good at. Hajime finally, finally feels like they’re back together, like things are the way they’re supposed to be, even if they’re kind of a mess, too.

Tooru looks at him, sensing the the thought, and smiles, small and shaky and honest.

-X-

The next few months are difficult. Somehow, they still aren’t as difficult as when Tooru was missing, but they’re close. Tooru is still quiet and somber, but as he struggles to overcome that, other things spill through the cracks and those in between moments are even rougher.

He breaks down. He has nightmares, waking Hajime with his whimpers and starting up to make sure he can move his hands and feet, sobbing and rocking himself until he can breathe again. The more worked up he gets, the worse his powers are. Things go flying, more than a dozen mugs fall victim. He refuses to talk for days, then wants to have everyone over at once and then retreats to his room after five minutes of talking to them.

And sometimes it’s Hajime who has the nightmares, Hajime who has to watch Tooru for signs of fundamental _wrongness_ , Hajime who needs Tooru to cup his hands around his face and hold him close until he stops crying.

Suga tries to get Tooru to talk about things once a week. Sometimes it goes great and Tooru has more energy than ever, sometimes Tooru locks himself into the bathroom for hours afterwards and Hajime has to clean the scratches he leaves on his own arms.

Eventually, he decides to go back to class. Hajime doesn’t think it’s a great idea, but Tooru is insistent, and they finally agree on a lightened course load, just so Tooru has something to do.

It helps immensely.

The first few days he comes home and falls asleep right away. The next few he spends angrily practicing writing and holding his pen right and he has a breakdown when he finds his handwriting is so much shakier than it used to be. Hajime tries to remind him that he’s doing well, given the massive disconnect between his brain and his body that he’s still recovering from, and Tooru locks him out of their room for five hours.

When he’s finally allowed back in, Tooru is fiddling with an old tape recorder that he can use instead of taking notes. He looks up at Hajime with teary-eyed shame and refuses to let Hajime accept his apology until he’s given him a hundred kisses for his patience. As though there’s any amount of patience Tooru doesn’t deserve.

And in time, Tooru heals. He starts waking up early, starts looking forward to his talks with Suga, every so often watches a movie with Hajime instead of sleeping at random hours of the day, and he sets up his old telescope while Hajime is out one day so he can stargaze in the evenings. It’s still not exactly normal, but Hajime wasn’t expecting normal.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Tooru says, one evening, when Hajime isn’t expecting it. He’s moved the telescope so he can look through it from their bed, and he’s currently adjusting it absently.

“Hmm?” he asks, not sure what Tooru’s talking about.

“Sharing a body with the Phoenix. It wasn’t all bad,” Tooru continues. He’s looking Hajime up and down. Hajime doesn’t move, not sure what he’s supposed to do. “I know it’s true, but tell me anyway you won’t be mad at me for struggling so bad if I’m excited about the good parts when I tell you.”

“Of course I won’t be mad. The bright side doesn’t undo everything else,” Hajime says softly.

Tooru smiles wide. Not grins, like he would have a year or two ago, but really, really smiles, wide and clear. It’s blinding, after so long without it. Hajime almost has to sit down where he stands, legs quivering with the relief. Gods, he wants to go back in time and smack his middle school self upside the head for ever protesting over even the fakest of Tooru’s smiles, because Tooru’s smiles are the foundation of the whole universe.

“I stood on Mars, Iwa-chan,” he says. “Mars! Can you believe it!” He sits up and nearly manages a grin. “And I went further than that, too! The rings of Saturn are so incredible from up close! It’s all so huge, stretching out further than you can see! And the Orion Nebula… gods, Iwa-chan, you can’t imagine how _far_ I went, and I think I might have seen a space-ship? Or weird looking debris but it might have been _aliens!_ ”

He looks about ready to continue, but he stops suddenly and glares at Hajime, then chucks a pillow at him. “What was that for?” Hajime cries.

“I’m here talking about the marvels of space… space! The whole _universe_ out there and you’re… you’re just watching my smile! Have you no sense of _priorities,_ Iwa-chan?”

He’s laughing. He’s _laughing._ Hajime nearly stumbles over his own feet to move closer and hold his face in his hands. Tooru scrunches up his nose at the gesture, but he doesn’t stop. “I suppose I understand,” he murmurs, the laughter dying off. “No matter how much I saw I never stopped missing you either.”

“You are more important to me than all the stars and nebulas and planets and other various cosmic entities could ever be,” Hajime says, hoping the awkward phrasing will make Tooru laugh again. He’s not ready for it to stop.

Tooru doesn’t laugh, but he chuckles a little and smiles softly, with his whole body, and the warmth of it melts into Hajime’s own. “I believe you,” Tooru says.

Hajime blinks at him. “Huh?” he says.

“I never did before. Not fully, you know? I always felt like there must be some other explanation,” Tooru says. “Like, you’re bad at opening up to people so it was easier to be with someone who’d known you always, or something. I had a thousand theories and I think they all conflicted with each other, but that’s how I felt. Even with the mindreading, I thought maybe you were fooling yourself because you like to dedicate yourself to things entirely and if you were going to settle for me, you wanted to be _really_ into it.”

“That’s…” Hajime says, the entire thought baffling to him. He doesn’t even know where to start unraveling it.

“Stupid. I know,” Tooru says, kissing his hand. “But that day that I got my powers, it changed everything. It changed me. And feeling… feeling wrong, that was what I built myself on after that, and… and it was like a Jenga tower and I couldn’t get rid of it, really, without toppling everything down.”

Hajime just stares at him and lets him talk, but his heart aches with every word.

“But I guess… I’m… I’m thoroughly toppled, now. Burned to the ground, even. And… and I think this time I’m going to rebuild myself around the fact that… that you’re still here, after… after _everything_.” He shrugs in a way that seems like he’s shielding himself. “That’s why I said. I believe you. And you’re more important to me than every star I’ve ever seen, which is _a lot_ , so if I’m enough for you, I’m enough for everything.”

“You’re more than enough,” Hajime says. His throat is dry, but he can’t let the thought that Oikawa Tooru, the most magnificent person Hajime can imagine, would think he’s just _enough_. “You’re…”

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, grabbing both his hands, and his voice is the ghost of his old teasing tone. “I had to die to get to enough, please be patient with me.”

“No,” Hajime croaks, outraged. Tooru’s eyes widen. “Nu-uh, you don’t get to use that against me. You don’t have to believe it, but the day that I stop staying you’re incredible and spectacular and a genius and beautiful and the _best thing that has ever happened to me_ is the day you can bury me!”

He doesn’t know when he started yelling but he’s breathless when he stops.

Tooru bursts out laughing. “Alright, alright,” he says, halfway to boastful. “Say whatever you want. I can handle it! I’ve got a moderate amount of self-worth now!”

“Yeah, well…” Hajime says, floundering. He just wants to sit and watch Tooru laughing.

Whether Tooru reads his mind or if he just sees something funny in Hajime’s face, he grants Hajime’s wish and laughs even harder, until he’s doubled over with giggles.

“Oh, gods, this isn’t some kind of weird mental breakdown, is it?” Hajime says, but Tooru’s laughter is making him laugh too.

Tooru shakes his head and lays back, laughing heartily now. “No,” he wheezes. “Oh, it just feels so good to laugh again…”

Hajime doesn’t have a chance against laughing with him. “Oh, gods, I missed this. I missed laughing with you so much.”

“I know,” Tooru giggles. “I know.” He holds his arms out. “Please come here and hold me.”

Hajime obeys without a thought, clambering into the bed beside Tooru until they’re intertwined entirely. They laugh, setting each other’s laughter off again every time one of them manages to calm down. They laugh and laugh and laugh until they cry, but it’s a soft sort of crying, like spring rain or like turning the first page of a new book after having to close the last one.

Tooru’s face is pressed against his own, their breaths weaving together like their limbs. “I’m not ok,” Tooru whispers.

“Me neither, really,” Hajime murmurs.

Tooru is quiet for a moment.“I don’t know when I will be ok. Or you. But I’m glad we’re ok.”

“We’ll always be ok,” Hajime says. “I’ll always love you with all my heart.”

“I’ll always love you too,” Tooru whispers back. He sits up, tugging at Hajime’s shirt. “Come look at the stars with me.”

Hajime chuckles and swings himself around to sit in Tooru’s lap as Tooru fiddles with the telescope. “Okay, look, look!” Tooru says, letting Hajime take over the telescope. “That’s the Swan nebula.” Hajime hums, and Tooru gives him a few moments before pushing him aside to find something else.

In fact, Tooru seems to be dedicated to showing him every single star in the sky, and they certainly are beautiful, but in the end, there’s only one galaxy Hajime can see, and in a way it’s shining brighter than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Oikawa gets......... a POV chapter! Wow. He's almost like the main character or something.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooru nods, squeezing a little tighter and burying his head in Hajime’s shirt. “Read to me?” Tooru asks.
> 
> Hajime leans back and grabs the book they’re working through this week from the nightstand. “Alright, where were we?”
> 
> “Page 97,” Tooru murmurs.
> 
> “Ok,” Hajime says, opening the book up obediently.
> 
> “Do the voices too,” Tooru says, nudging Hajime with his foot playfully.
> 
> Hajime groans. “Do I have to?”
> 
> Tooru just flicks his eyes up and looks pleadingly, and Hajime’s scowl barely hides how he caves immediately. “Fine,” he grumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap ok.
> 
> I've never written anything this long before and the idea of FINISHING it is so fundamentally weird. I'm sort of kinda dying, it's fine. I'm fine. 
> 
> Smut from "But for now, this is every bit as good, this lazy, languid dance on a Saturday morning." to "They lay there for a while, listening to each other breathe."

In some ways, Tooru knows he’s dreaming. His connection to the Phoenix has, at the very least, allowed him to be utterly sure it’s gone now that he can’t feel it in his head anymore. But it doesn’t make it any less vivid, and somehow isn’t much of a comfort.

It doesn’t make it any less terrifying to feel the flames around him, in him, stealing away his voice, his body, plunging him into a sort of agony that can’t be described in terms of physical pain, like his very soul is what’s been caught on fire.

Sometimes he wakes up shivering and unable to make a sound, like his mind automatically thinks that the fire means it’s not in control anymore and won’t even try. Sometimes, like today, he wakes up screaming, flailing out as though he could escape the sizzling, searing phantom pain in his chest. This is still the better option, Tooru thinks.

Hajime sits up with him, but he keeps his distance, letting Tooru rock himself and catch his breath enough to remind himself that it’s _over, it’s over, gods, it’s over, it’s me, it’s all me_ …  When Tooru finally comes to a rest, head resting on his knees and his hands laced together over the back of his neck, Hajime’s hand settles on his back.

“Can I?” he asks.

Maybe a long time ago, or at least what feels like a long time ago, Tooru would have felt ashamed that he makes Hajime jump through these hoops, that he keeps having to wake up to Tooru’s nightmares. Now, though, he just nods. This is what it is. It’s no one’s fault. It’s better for Hajime if he lets him know what to do. That’s what helps him, when Hajime is the one who wakes up screaming.

He nods, and Hajime scoots closer, hugging him from behind. “You need anything?” he asks.

“No,” Tooru says. “I’ll just sit up a while.”

“Try to sleep a little if you can, alright?”

“I’ll try,” Tooru murmurs. His skin still feels tingly and his chest is tight. He won’t be able to sleep if his body doesn’t settle down. But if he keeps breathing, it will eventually.

He hears Hajime drift back to sleep, his arms clasped around Tooru’s middle, drooling on his back. He smiles. Hajime’s dreams are softer, confused scenes, inspired by Tooru’s scent as he breathes it in with quiet snores against Tooru’s spine.

Tooru lets himself take a few deep breaths, focusing on Hajime’s own, and eventually his body loosens up. He shrugs Hajime off and guides his sleepy boyfriend back into their pillows. He pulls Hajime’s arm around him, shuffling down a little so that he’s tucked under Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime doesn’t wake up, but his arm tightens around Tooru all the same. Tooru closes his eyes, and a long while later, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, Hajime is sitting beside him, reading something. “Hey,” he says, stroking Tooru’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Good morning. Any better?”

Tooru nods, rubbing at his eyes.

“You were squirming a little, but I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Tooru shakes his head. “If it was a nightmare, I don’t remember.” He yawns. “And I needed the sleep.”

Hajime closes his book and slides closer. “I figured. You need anything now?”

Tooru shakes his head again, then extends his arms. “Come here,” he murmurs.

Hajime smirks and settles on top of him, then leans down for a tender kiss, the kind that just trickles into Tooru’s hands sliding up Hajime’s shirt and Hajime’s hips moving against his, but without the kiss ever growing hotter.

They used to be wilder around each other, and Tooru hopes someday he’ll be ready for that again, because he misses falling into each other like they wanted to devour each other, taste every last part of each other. Tooru gets too tired, too panicked for that these days.

But for now, this is every bit as good, this lazy, languid dance on a Saturday morning.

Hajime’s hands tug his shirt off, breaking away only for the moment it takes to pull it over his head, and then again when he pulls his own off. Otherwise, his lips slide carefully against Tooru’s own, undemanding and unimposing. His hand slides behind Tooru, holding him close, and the other drops down to tug Tooru’s pants down.

“Grab the lube for me?” he asks, his voice soft and ever so husky. Tooru joins their lips again as he fumbles with the nightstand, tugging it open and pulling out the bottle of lube.

Hajime takes it in one hand and flips the cap with his thumb, struggling a little with it before he gets it onto his fingers. He slides to the side a little so he can cradle Tooru in one arm and slide a finger gently along his rim, easing in the tip just a little on each stroke. Tooru shivers with the catch and drag of it, pulling back a little and focusing his eyes on Hajime’s face, letting his fingers drop down and smooth over Hajime’s thighs, his side, where he knows Hajime likes it.

“Feel good, baby?” Hajime whispers. He likes talking when they’re together, especially now that Tooru would rather be quiet and drink Hajime in.

Tooru nods, and Hajime presses the finger in, just the tip, then back out. He eases it back in, sliding further in careful increments. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Hajime whispers. “That’s it, taking me so well.”

Tooru leans forward to kiss him again, letting Hajime work the finger in, like there’s nothing in the world but the two of them, nothing worth hurrying for. Like they have all the time in the world and nothing to do with it but love each other.

It’s perfect, so perfect like this. Tooru cups his hands around Hajime’s face, deepening the kiss just a little, just enough to get a real taste of Hajime. Hajime carefully slides in a second finger.

He works his way to four fingers without ever speeding up, without it ever getting more frantic. He rubs at Tooru’s prostate without any desperation. The pleasure runs up Tooru’s spine and he tilts his head back to moan, leaving his neck free for Hajime to press small kisses to it, up and down his throat. His fingers trace along Hajime’s strong back until Hajime is shivering with it as well.

His fingers brush at the base of Tooru’s neck, and the dripping, oozing pleasure pulsing to through Tooru’s veins mounts with the care he puts into it. “Baby,” Hajime says, voice shaking desperately. “Darling. You’re so beautiful.”

“I need you,” Tooru breathes. His limbs are relaxed, but the pleasure is drawing up in the base of his stomach. “I need you.”

“You’ve got me,” Hajime says, pulling his fingers out and lubing himself up. “You’ve got me, always.” He nudges at Tooru’s shoulder. “Turn around, sweetheart.”

He does, and Hajime slides in, just a little, sinking deeper with every tiny, almost polite thrust. His hand strokes along Tooru’s chest a few times. Tooru gasps as he’s stretched open, bit by bit, but somehow this is still barely any more intense than spooning. The pleasure is more intense, but it’s so quiet, so slow…

Hajime wraps his hand around Tooru’s cock when he slides in all the way to the base of his own, kissing Tooru’s neck. Tooru’s breath hitches, but then he leans back into Hajime, letting his head fall back onto his arm. “That’s it, baby,” Hajime whispers. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, love.”

“Always,” Tooru croaks, as Hajime matches the tiny thrusts against his prostate with the slow strokes along his cock. “You’ve always got me.” Maybe he keeps it up for five minutes, maybe an hour. Time doesn’t matter to Tooru right now. All that matters is this, them, here, together, wrapped up in each other, gasping ever so slightly as they climb a mountain of bliss with Hajime’s fingers laced tightly with Tooru’s own.

Hajime comes first with a gasp, and Tooru feels Hajime’s orgasm wash over both of them before Tooru’s own breaks over him like an ocean wave. He thrusts weakly into Hajime’s hand and lets Hajime stroke him through it.

They lay there for a while, listening to each other breathe. “I need a shower,” Tooru murmurs.

“I’ll get it started for you,” Hajime murmurs, kissing his check and hopping out of bed.

Hajime adjusts the shower for him. It can’t be too hot, not anymore, but Tooru doesn’t like it cold. Hajime knows just where to set it, and he pulls Tooru into the shower when he finds it. “Come here, let me wash your hair,” he whispers.

Tooru bows his head and lets him. He loves letting Hajime wash his hair. As nice as it is to have Hajime’s fingers massaging his scalp, it’s the small, content smile that Hajime wears as he does it that makes it truly worthwhile. And when he returns the favor, Hajime sighs and his thoughts drift into something peaceful and quiet.

Tooru makes breakfast, while Hajime sorts through their mail, carefully stacking the bills in one pile. Tooru sees this month’s green envelope containing Tendou’s scrawled thoughts about how Semi is doing that Tooru had asked for (despite Hajime’s grouching) and a check the size of their rent from Ushijima, prefaced the first time by a simple note:

_I know this will not undo what I’ve done, but I hope it alleviates some of your future difficulties. I wish you well, and should you require anything more, do not hesitate to ask,_

_Ushijima Wakatoshi_

Now it was generally prefaced with either silence or a newspaper clipping of jailed sex traffickers or mysterious donations to mutant sanctuaries all over the world.

Their stove is electric now, though they’d had to pool their savings to buy it, but this way it doesn’t remind Tooru of anything. Whenever he’s not using the utensils, he lets them float in the air. Behind him, he can sense Hajime’s heart grow warm as he watches. He knows that Tooru’s pretending he’s an astronaut when he does that. Tooru smiles at the stove and doesn’t meet his eyes.

They eat quietly, and Tooru eyes Hajime as he does, trying to decide how bad an effect this night had. Hajime seems to be in a good mood, probably comforted by the fact that Tooru managed to fall back asleep. Tooru still feels shaky, which is frustrating. His hands sometimes feel like they’re not his own, which makes them quiver, and his chopsticks clatter almost mockingly against the plate.

There will be bad days and good days, he tries to remind himself. It’s alright to wake up feeling off.

He sighs and holds out his arms once Hajime has put his dishes in the sink. Hajime takes in the gesture and smiles. “Yeah?” he says, gently kissing Tooru’s head.

Tooru just nods, and Hajime kneels down so he can wrap Tooru’s arms around his neck and pick him up. Tooru clings tight and focuses on his breathing as Hajime carries him to the living room and sits down on the sofa, carefully laying down and letting Tooru settle into his lap.

“Good?” he asks.

Tooru nods, squeezing a little tighter and burying his head in Hajime’s shirt. “Read to me?” Tooru asks.

Hajime leans back and grabs the book they’re working through this week from the nightstand. “Alright, where were we?”

“Page 97,” Tooru murmurs.

“Ok,” Hajime says, opening the book up obediently.

“Do the voices too,” Tooru says, nudging Hajime with his foot playfully.

Hajime groans. “Do I have to?”

Tooru just flicks his eyes up and looks pleadingly, and Hajime’s scowl barely hides how he caves immediately. “Fine,” he grumbles.

He starts reading, making ridiculous voices for each of the characters and kneeing Tooru gently whenever Tooru starts laughing, and keeps reading until the vague, slight tremors in Tooru’s fingers die down.

He slides the book shut, thumbing lazily at the back of Tooru’s head as Tooru clings to him, face hidden and knees drawn up around Hajime’s waist. He nudges him a little closer with one shoulder, and kisses his forehead gently.

“How are you?” Hajime asks.

“I think I’ll be ok,” Tooru murmurs. Each month, the bad days get less frequent, less frustrating, less terrifying. Today was a little rougher around the edges. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

After a moment of comfortable silence, he feels a flutter of a thought in Hajime’s mind before he hides it quickly. He’s blushing. Tooru narrows his eyes. “What?”

“I wanted to ask you about something today,” Hajime says, sheepishly, realizing he was caught in the act. “Well, more like ask your permission to… uh… keep a secret.”

“A good secret?” Tooru asks.

“I hope so,” Hajime says. “Um. I just want to surprise you. But… but I’m pretty sure you’ll like it.”

Tooru ducks his head down and tucks it into Hajime’s shoulder. “Alright,” he says. “How long?”

“I’m still planning the details,” Hajime says. “But I think about a week.”

Tooru kisses the edge of his jaw. “I think I’ll manage.”

-X-

Eight days later, Tooru wakes to find a note in Hajime’s place on the bed.

 _Good morning, love,_ it reads.

_I hope I’m guessing correctly when I make this a surprise for you. You’ve always loved surprises, but it’s alright if that’s changed. As always, what you want is the most important to me._

Here there’s a scribbled heart, which Hajime scrawled over many times to make it symmetrical. Tooru smiles.

_But if I’m right and you’ll enjoy this as a surprise, please wash up and put on the kimono on the bed._

Tooru looks around and finds the kimono, the fabric silky and blue beneath his fingers. His heart is thudding and he hasn’t been so eager to find out a surprise since his seventh birthday party, when Hajime had spent a week in his room building what Tooru had later found out was a model spaceship as a gift.

Tooru suspects what this is now, but he tries not to get his hopes up. Maybe it’s just an elaborate date, something more formal or exciting.

But he tiptoes into the bathroom, trying to catch the whispers in the living room. There’s more than one, which only strengthens Tooru’s assumption. He showers, brushes his teeth, dries his hair. He doesn’t put as much effort into looking good as usual.

Of course, it’s been more than year since the last time he really spun through his whole beauty ritual, perfect hair checked for every stray strand, perfect smile fixed in place. That Tooru feels so distant now. He wonders sometimes. If he were to look in the mirror and suddenly see that smile, would he even feel like it was his face?

But he likes to look good, even if he can’t remember how he used to do those faux smiles. He likes to do his hair, stand straight, wear a little mascara…

Today though, he just pulls his hands through his hair, which is getting a little too long, checks his teeth quickly and calls it good enough. If he’s right, he wants this to be as raw and simple as possible.

He hurries back and pulls on the kimono, adjusting it carefully.

After a moment there’s a knock on the door. He opens it excitedly, and Mayumi and Takeru smile back at him, just as formally dressed. “Ready?” she asks.

He feels terrified and elated all at once. He’s not crying just yet, but he will be soon, so he nods instead of trying to say anything with the knot in his throat. She takes his hand and leads him into the living room, where the table has been set and gifts have been arranged.

Hajime looks awkward in his own kimono. “Uh,” he says. He’s never been too elegant about the big gestures. “Sorry I’m kind of making this seem like I think of you as a bride, led into the room second and um… well, what I’m gonna… but… you know, I wanted to surprise you.”

“Go ahead,” Tooru manages to say, vision blurring with tears. “You know what you’re doing, go ahead.”

As nervous as Hajime is, Tooru already knows what he’s going to ask. Besides the obvious. He also knows that as usual, he’s asking because he’s sensed it’s what Tooru needs, and he’s right.  

“Alright,” Hajime whispers. His mother has to push him forward, because he’s frozen in panic. She’s dressed in traditional Indian garb. “O-Oikawa Tooru. Will you… you do me the honor of… of b-becoming my husband?” Even though he was expecting it, Tooru’s breath leaves him once it’s actually said. Hajime pauses, and then, very quietly adds, “And… and taking my name, please?”

Tooru manages to breathe, nodding helplessly.

It had been a bit of a joke even to Tooru himself, when he was 12, though there had been something childishly desperate about it behind everything, a painful aching desire to leave  behind the Oikawas.

Of course back then getting married to Hajime had seemed so ridiculous that he’d allowed himself to picture himself as a trophy wife, flouncing into Hajime’s Maserati (not that Tooru had been serious enough about cars to know what _exactly_ Maserati looked like) and laughing haughtily at his parents, who were poorer and sadder than him. And probably wishing they had seen his potential all along.

That old vision makes him cringe now, but the heart of it remains. He wants a chance, finally, to say goodbye to who he’s been, for better or worse. He wants to take Hajime’s hand and build this newer, stronger person he’s become, and in a family that has always loved him unconditionally. He wants to make it a promise, as unbreakable a promise as possible. To Hajime. From Hajime.

“Of course I will, you brute,” Tooru sobs finally, resisting the urge to wipe the tears and snot into his sleeve.

The set up is all painfully traditional. It’s _real_. The only thing that makes it any different from a traditional engagement ceremony are the touches of Indian culture woven into it. Still, instead of a romantic scene, Tooru is ugly crying and Hajime is so nervous he looks like he’s glaring Tooru down, even as he presses a kiss to Tooru’s lips.

“We’ve brought gifts,” says Hajime’s mother, before they both fall apart. Iwaizumi Aditi has never been one to let things veer out of control when she has a goal in mind. “Come on.”

She sits Tooru down and lets him look over the gifts. Naganoshi, for longevity. Shiraga, for them to grow old together. Surume for a long marriage. Suehiro for a happy future.

“We thought about getting five suehiro, just to be safe, but Okaasan says knowing you, that would only be tempting fate,” Takeru informs him.

Tooru laughs at that, wet and quivering.

Aditi presses a shugi-bukuro into his hands. “This is the most important part, though,” she says.

“Money?” Tooru asks.

“Just open it,” she says, and Tooru does so, pulling out not money, but a printed paper.

He unfolds it carefully, then looks up, blinking. “Airplane tickets?” he says.

“Just the reservation, technically,” Aditi says. “We’ll confirm them today if you agree, but since it’s rather sudden…”

“They’re to Hawaii,” Hajime says. “In about a week, over winter break.”

Tooru stares at him. “Why?” he croaks.

“Well,” Hajime says. “You know, the beach… and… uh.”

Tooru can’t look away.

“It’s… it’s… you know. Legal. There. And. I mean…” He’s nearly purple with his blush, pulling at his collar nervously.

“You want to get married,” Tooru says. “In a week?”

Hajime nods. “Just as… you know, like… a pre-wedding wedding. So it’s real, you know? Obviously someday I want to get married with all our family and friends and…”

“And we all know Indian weddings are quite the ordeal,” Aditi volunteers. “Might as well start planning now, it might be legal here by the time we finish… And they’re rather gendered, so we’ll have to decide which heteronormative traditions to keep or to…”

“Yes,” Tooru says, hoping she won’t mind being cut off if it’s for something important. “Of course, let’s… let’s confirm them now, let’s get married, let’s do it.”

“Ok,” Hajime breathes, and then breaks into a grin. “Ok, let’s get married, holy shit, we’re doing this.”

They scamper off to confirm the tickets, Aditi and Mayumi laughing in their wake.

-X-

One week later, at a small church in Honolulu, Iwaizumi Hajime slips a ring onto Iwaizumi Tooru’s finger and whispers, in a voice that suggests he fears one or both of them will break if he raises it, “I do.”

Tooru’s hands are shaking when he slips the ring onto Hajime’s finger, but his voice is steady when he says, “I do.”

The kiss is something that they will both remember, in detail, forever, something pure and gentle and solid, utterly indescribable in how much meaning there is behind it.

“When we get home,” Tooru whispers, as they sit out on the beach afterwards, shoes off, still in tuxes, vaguely stunned. The matching rings gleam in the dim, purplish light of dusk. Tooru’s tux is borrowed from Kuroo, and a little big, Hajime’s was his father’s and doesn’t fit entirely right. “Will you carry me over the threshold into the apartment?”

Tooru stares at the ring on his hand and whispers, “Iwaizumi Tooru,” to himself, to try it out once more, this time for real. His heart doesn’t flutter. Instead, he feels solid, right.

Oikawa Tooru feels like someone he could meet on the street now, and say, yes, I knew them once, before they walk away into the unknown again. Iwaizumi Tooru feels like what he sees in the mirror every morning. His hand feels more his own with a ring on it, somehow, like it’s an assurance that the person he is now won’t be alone.

“I’m always carrying you. You’re my husband now,” Hajime mutters. “You should carry me for the special occasion.”

“You know very well that I never carry you because you panic,” Tooru says. “Though maybe now that I’m your husband, you’ll have more faith in my sense of balance.”

“Husband,” Hajime breathes.

“Husband,” Tooru repeats, just as awed.

They look at each other, silently, for a long while, and then fall into an embrace at the same time, laughing. The way that Hajime feels right now surrounds him like a thick blanket, and it melts into the same warm, delightful feeling that Tooru also feels. The wind is soft around them and the sea crashes quietly beside them.

The tuxes don’t fit and Tooru nearly cried over an open torch earlier this morning. They’re basically eloping in Hawaii and they’ll probably have jetlag when they get back.

But the beach is peaceful and Tooru is wrapped in Hajime’s warm and happy thoughts, and everything is just as it always should have been, Hajime and Tooru, together forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have added a warning for underwhelming attention to legal detail. How did Tooru get an ESTA in a week? Sure I could see Iwa's mother having some kind of joint guardianship arrangement with the Professor after the fiasco with Tooru's parents that would give Tooru and Hajime a legal connection but how would that work out with a foreign marriage? Tooru is seizure prone shouldn't they ensure hospital visitation rights???? I DON'T KNOW??? 
> 
> Ok I'm done. It's... *handwavy gestures* symbolic.
> 
> Also I have been to one Indian wedding and I was four so it's a little hazy but I feel like the most important question here is... when they can have a legal wedding in Japan (that is Indian?), who rides the horse? Are there two horses? Oh my god, does Iwa wear the henna? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS. Also so many details to research because 4 year old me was not prepared to write a wedding about a Japanese man and a half Indian man getting married nearly 20 years later, apparently.
> 
> OK I'M DONE.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, reblogs, asks and other responses! They mean so, so much to me! See you next story!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://dgalerab.tumblr.com/)!


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